


As the Moon Pulls the Tide

by MurderInCrimson



Series: That Butler, Dreaming of Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Female Pronouns for Grell Sutcliff, Gen, M/M, Underwater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 36,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderInCrimson/pseuds/MurderInCrimson
Summary: The sea was her home; yet, it always felt too cold.He was meant to be her mate, her true-love; yet, like the sea, he was too cold.A little mermaid, with hair flame red, wanted to find her place in the world. If she did not belong to the ocean, then perhaps the land would hold her future. All it would take was a kiss from a Prince.A "The Little Mermaid" retelling.
Relationships: Angelina Dalles| Madame Red & Grell Sutcliff, Ronald Knox/Othello, Sebastian Michaelis/Grell Sutcliff, William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Series: That Butler, Dreaming of Fairy Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126970
Comments: 21
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue: A Drowning Flame

There was a storm that night. It filled the skies above the sea; it drew up waves and made the ocean thrash as though with fever. Above, birds were knocked from the air. The sharks and whales that were strong enough to whether the crashing squalls were happy enough to end the lives of the feathered creatures; they feasted well on the carnage of that night. 

Below the waves, the kingdom of the Mer slept uneasily. Storms that came this far out to sea were often ignored, for the most part, and whatever damage they caused would be cleaned up once it had passed. On occasion, a human ship would stray too far out into the embrace of the ocean. With such storms brought shipwrecks to explore, and the corpses of bloated sea men to inspect. 

That night, however, Angelina paid no mind to the pieces of ship as they fell to the bottom of the ocean. Usually, this was not something that caught her interest. She was a Queen, after all, and one of this Mer kingdom. When she was not leading her people, she spent her time lounging in her coral keep. It was expected for her to birth a clutch of eggs, soon, and for a strong male of her kind to lay his seed into them. 

Yet, she could not. 

Some within her waters believe that, unable to continue her line, she should have been dethroned. What good was a Queen who could not birth the next generation? Who could not give the kingdom a princess or prince to lead them in the future, when she herself became too old and weak to swim the tides? True enough, she could name one of her kin the next in the royal line, yet--

None of them were good enough. 

In them, she saw no drive, no will. Should their kingdom be attacked by humans or by the Deep Waters, the Kingdom of Coral would be destroyed, taken over. The Red Queen knew that her people would die, would drown, would be torn apart and turned into nothing more than hunks of meat for the bottom feeders to sup upon. 

So, instead, she allowed her people to think her mad, unkind. She killed those who dared to defy her. With her own hands, she ripped out their tongues to wet the water with their crimson blood. She split their fins and tails with daggers and knives of stone and shell. She ate their organs as she pulled them from their stomachs. 

She made them afraid of her. Better to rule via fear than to be so soft that they would think it easy to remove her from her throne. 

That night, though, was different. 

To tell the truth, Angelina had no idea what drew her so close to the surface. She should have been asleep in her bed of soft sea grasses and weeds. Instead, she felt something burn into her heart, into her flesh, until she grew too hot to simply writhe in her bed any longer. The feeling, the burning, drew her upward, past the safety of her Kingdom’s magic, past the gates and the bubbles that separated her world from the world above. 

The sea squirmed and shook as the Red Queen rose toward the swell of the surface. She paused, just a bit away from the ship as it sank. In the water, she could smell blood, and fear, and sadness. The hum of electricity pulsed through the ocean, suggesting that lightning had struck. In her head, she was able to piece it together. 

Humans had strayed into the storm. A crack of thunder, then a bolt of electricity from the sky. The storm felled the ship, easily, and the waves pulled it to the bottom of the sea. Fire and smoke, all pulled down, down, down into the cold ocean below. 

Now she watched. Corpses were falling like snow, some already bloating as they swelled with water. A few men were still twitching, trying to swim, to find purchase. They would die, soon enough, she knew. 

There was no pity in her heart for them.

The queen was about to turn away when something caught her eye. Something red, and shimmering, sinking slowly. The fire inside of her bubbled up again. In a rush, she flicked her powerful tail to propel her forward, toward that flame in the waves. 

A young, human child was sinking, drowning. Long, crimson hair floated upward, as though reaching for the air beyond the surface. Pale skin, as pale as the moon, with a soft whisper of freckles. 

Angelina’s breath caught in her gills. She pushed herself forward, harder now, to grab the child up in her arms. She was tender with it, with  _ her _ , as she wrapped her arms around the little girl. She felt the child’s soul, burning with that same heat that had pulled the Red Queen so close to the shipwreck to begin with. They were alike, the two of them; the Mermaid Queen of the Kingdom of Coral and this flame-haired child. 

She knew, then, that she had found the heir to her throne. She had found her daughter in this little human. 

The air above the surface of the sea was cold. Angelina pushed her fingers into the girl’s mouth, forcing her to gag up water. “You need to breathe,” the queen whispered. “Take as much air as you can, little fish. Your journey is not yet over.” 

The little girl cried out, gasping and sucking in lungfulls of oxygen. Her green eyes rolled in her head, blank. There was only a tiny spark behind them, in them. With a soft whimper, she found herself looking at this beautiful, deadly mermaid Queen holding her in her arms. There was a spot of confusion, of worried brows and lips parted just so. 

“Hush now, little fish. I have you,” Angelina whispered again, and lay a kiss upon the girl’s forehead. “I need you to listen to me, and listen well. I can save you. And I shall. However--you must learn to breathe the ocean. I can give you air enough to bring you to the Sea Witch. I will bargain, for you. For you, little fish, I will boil the seas. We are alike. I know. I feel it, in your soul, and in mine.” 

“I…” the girl whispered, her voice hoarse. Then she was gone, passed out. 

Angelina pressed her lips against the child’s mouth, forcing a few lungfuls of sweet, ocean air into her. Time was not on their side, now. Only an hour or so before the child would drown. So, without another thought, the Red Queen dove with the child in her arms, down, down, down.

The grotto was dark, as it always was, with only a few sparks of bioluminescence to light the way. Tiny fish, some of them sentient, some not, darted this way and that. A few swam into the grotto proper, probably to warn their master of the incoming Queen. 

The Sea Witch grinned. “Hehehe,” he uttered, tapping his lips with his long, black nails. “A visitor, so late? Ah, the Coral Queen, all red, like blood. Hehehe… This should be fun.” 

Behind the man, who was cloaked in shadow, a young boy sighed. “Shall I ready your potions, sir?” the boy asked, looking over his shoulder to his master. Already, his slim, pale hands were working to drag down a few vials of only goodness knew what. 

“Not yet, young William. Not yet.” The Sea Witch grinned, all teeth and scars, as the Red Queen swam into his grotto. She pushed aside the curtain of floating seaweed. Her motions were harried, angry. Fearful. “Ah, Angelina. I did not expect you.” 

“Hush,” the Queen snapped. “I saw your little spies yards out. You’ve had plenty of time to ready for me. That doesn’t matter, anyway.” She motioned to the human child in her arms, skin pale and hair the color of flame. “We have the same soul, the same fate. You must save her--she will drown. She will die, if you do not help me, and I cannot allow that.” 

Frowning now, the Sea Witch steepled his long fingers before him. He watched the Queen from beneath a fringe of silvery grey hair, assessing her. “Everything has a price, Madame,” he said, finally, slowly, drawing each of the words out as though to swallow up what little time the child had left. He tipped his head to one side and grinned. “What will you give me, in return, for saving your little pet?” 

Angelina watched as the man unfurled himself, the shadows of his grotto forming tentacle after tentacle. She turned away from him, hissing sharply. A cry escaped her lips as he pulled her face toward him, one of those black arms caressing her face. He was slimy, even beneath the waves, and his tentacles were slick, thick. Powerful. She hated how he made her feel weak, how she knew he could crush her in a moment if he truly wished to.

And worse yet, she had nothing to offer him. 

“Then you have nothing?” the Sea Witch purred, grinning again. He ran a finger over one of the scars on his hands, sighing. “How dreadful. You waste my time, and cannot even offer me a single, joyful laugh.” Another of his tentacles reached out, stroking the red-head’s pale cheek. “She is such a pretty little thing. Female soul, and certainly, a female face. Too bad she is a Prince of those that live above.” 

“I have felt her soul, Undertaker,” Angelina whispered, using the name the Sea Witch seemed to prefer. “She is no Prince, but with your help, she could be the Princess that this Kingdom of Coral needs. She could be our future.” There was a furious look in her eyes when she turned to him, again. Fire. She burned and pulsed with it, with the fire of the child in her arms. “Please. I will do anything you ask of me.” 

The Sea Witch dipped his head, grinning. “Hilarious,” he whispered in a hush. “Have you met my apprentice yet?” 

“What does your boy have to do with--”

“Oh, I think he has a lot to do with your little fishie, Angelina. Do you know who he is? He is the youngest Prince of those Below; of the Deep Water Kingdom.” Undertaker chuckled, pulling the young boy forward with another of his tentacles. He wrapped his arms around the child, setting his chin upon his head. “Hehehe...He has a good amount of magic in him, swimming around, little circles. And one day, he will need someone other than me to keep him safe from falling into the wrong fins.” 

Angelina studied the boy, even as he looked away. She could certainly see that he was a Deep Water; a soft shimmer of glowing scales lay upon his black tail. Green, mostly, though there were a few splashes of pale gold. He was handsome, considering his youth and his kind. She knew damned well that his people usually were disgusting creatures with their own sense of beauty. No wonder he was cast out to be the apprentice of the Sea Witch. They would think him ugly, despite his natural grace. 

“A bargain,” Angelina snapped. The flame’s time was running out. “She has only a minute left, Undertaker--”

“Hehehehe...then a blood oath. When she becomes Queen...my little William will be her mate. He will be her King--and magic will be allowed back into the Kingdom of Coral.” 

A minute. That was all she had to think it over. Angelina felt the fire burning in her, the rope tying her to the child in her arms. She knew that she could not allow this little fire to drown, to die; yet, allowing magic back into the Kingdom? It had nearly destroyed it, long ago. Only when it could be controlled was it allowed, such as with the shield that protected her kingdom from the world above. 

But the magic that the Sea Witch was asking for was wild. It was dangerous. It was evil, and wicked, and twisted hearts. 

Gasping, she nodded, fiercely. She had no choice. She loved this little girl in her hands already; for her, for her--she would sacrifice whatever she had to. 

“We have a deal, then,” the Sea Witch said, grinning. He pushed William to the side and pulled himself forward, curling his tentacles around the Queen and her new daughter. “And what a deal it is. This will be entertaining, Red Queen.” 

The minute was up--

\--and he pressed a potion to the child’s lips. 

“Hehehehe...what a beautiful little mermaid she will be.” 


	2. Kingdom of Coral

Dreams of fire, of lightning, of things she could never understand. Once a year, on her birthday, the Princess of the Coral Kingdom awoke, nearly screaming, from a dream she could never explain. For the last thirteen years, she found herself clawing at her throat, feeling like she was drowning, no matter how impossible that was. After all, she had both gills and lungs; she was a creature that lived under the water--yet she could look upon the land without dying from the air. 

Still, the dreams plagued her. She would always awaken with a pain in her chest and in her tail. It was whole and perfect when she finally managed to open her eyes. In her dreams, it was split in two. It was useless, in her dreams. 

That morning was just the same. Flailing, thrashing, she woke herself up with a gargled cry. Heaving, forcing the water through her gills, she finally sat up. The woven seaweed blankets that covered her floated away, their weight just enough to keep them within her grotto room in the castle made of coral and pieces of shipwrecks. 

Grelle rubbed at her face, sighing quietly, until the fear that clutched her heart dissipated like bubbles upon sand. Sighing, she stretched, letting her flexible spine relax until she was no longer stiff from the nightmare. 

“Get it together, love,” she whispered to herself. A fish floated by, stupid enough to swim within her grasp. She grabbed it up and devoured it. Breakfast. Then, quickly, she pulled herself toward the rocks and shells that made up her wardrobe. 

Humming, she tried a few different hair pieces before deciding to keep it simple with a few strings of black pearls, all of the perfect little orbs standing out against the blood red of her long hair. She found some pieces of twine and rags, harvested from one of the ships that had fallen to the sea floor, and wound up her hair until it stayed, somewhat, in place, which would let her swim a bit easier. 

For clothing, she stuck a couple of starfish to her skin, stroking them with a smile before adding to them with more pearl strings, a few clam shells, and pieces of netting that had been woven with seaweed and coral. 

She drew up a tarnished hand mirror so that she could look herself over. With a keen eye, she finally decided that she looked plenty presentable. Many of her fellow mermaids swam with much less on. For her, however, anything she could use to accentuate her slight curves and cover up her lack of breasts was a blessing. 

One more year, and she would be allowed to ask the Sea Witch for a potion. 

Of course, if she asked and needled William about it, he would probably brew one himself for her. 

William.

Grelle huffed, shaking her head from side to side to clear it of that thought. Her betrothed. She had known him her entire life, from childhood, though she had to admit that she could not remember much before her seventh birthday.

Birthday? Oh. She pinched her cheeks to draw color to them, still glancing in the mirror. Frowning, she looked around her little room until she found her pot of crushed sea flowers. She smeared some of it onto her lips, drawing out the shape of them. Then she grinned, the crimson of the makeup making her sharp teeth seem all the sharper, all the more dangerous. 

Right. Today was her birthday. At the age of twenty, she was almost considered an adult for her kind. She had heard before that humans were considered adults at eighteen, though they tended to live shorter lives than those of the merfolk. Quietly, as she finished readying herself for the day, she thought of the mysterious creatures that made their lives above the waves. 

As much as she wanted to know more about them, her mother, the Queen, would never allow her toward the shore. Worse yet, William agreed, and had forced her to remain underwater whenever a ship was near. Only when said ship had sunk, if it did, was she allowed to explore, to find treasures. 

To see the corpses of the men, bloated and disgusting, as they sank to the ocean floor to feed the bottom dwellers. 

Grelle sighed again. She shook her head as she swam away from her chambers, drawing herself up into the castle proper. The Coral Kingdom was named for the rich amount of different reefs it was made up of. It was colorful, and beautiful, and everything she had ever known. 

A flash of black and blinding green to her right drew her up short. “Grelle,” William said, coming to her elbow. His brilliant, cold eyes stared at her. Through her. Drank her up and spat her out. She bit back a shiver as he touched her arm, stroking the length of her fins there, and her blood red scales that blended into cream and black stripes. “Good birthday to you.” 

“Thank you, William,” she replied. He was a beautiful man, slender and sleek, with plenty of lean muscle. His painfully pale skin melded down into a tail of pitch black scales, though there were soft spots that glowed in the darkness, green and yellow. He kept his midnight hair short, though the spiked fin that ran down his spine made it look a little longer than it was. 

Honestly, she would have loved to settle down with him, if his attitude was as attractive as his body, his face. Instead, he was cold, calm, collected. He thought out every single move he made. Never had she ever seen him make a snap decision. No sudden kisses, or surprise, loving words. Everything he did was so that he could better or further himself, his position within the kingdom. 

He would be King, one day, beside her as Queen. 

“You do not look pleased.”

“Nightmares again, I’m afraid.” She slipped out of his grasp. “I was going to see my mother. Care to come?” 

William paused, watching her. Thinking behind those cold eyes, calculating. Always. Always. Finally, he sighed. “No. Not at the moment. The Sea Witch has work for me. I will see you later, at the banquet.” 

Grelle nodded, slowly. “Alright, then. I will see you then.” She watched him swim away, out of the castle proper. He would pass through the corals, down to the depths of a trench. She knew the way, but only because she had gleaned the information from her betrothed. 

Magic, most magic, was forbidden. She knew that. She also knew that her marriage to William would, somehow, bring it back into her kingdom. And, with it, her ability to ask for the potion that would change her body into what it was meant to be. To allow her to become whom she was, in her heart, in her soul. 

For now, however, she had to wait. 

With a flick of her tail, Grelle propelled herself toward her mother’s throne room. The coral castle was a maze of rooms, of chambers, of hallways and deadends. Still, she had lived there for her entire life, so it was easy to navigate. Should someone from one of the other kingdoms try to find a specific room…

Well. There were merfolk skeletons, trapped, that those that lived within the castle and city used as decor now. 

Grelle passed one of them. It caught her eye, only because a delicious looking crab was crawling around on the skull. She snapped it up, biting off each of the legs as she swam. It shrieked and cried out, but she ignored it. Soon enough, it would be dead, and in her stomach. She needed the energy more than the thing needed life. 

That was what she had been taught. 

Finally, she found herself in the throne room. Angelina, the Red Queen, lounged on her throne, listening to a group of young merfolk as they made a case before her. Something, Grelle caught, about permission to harvest treasures from a shipwreck just outside of the territory of the Coral Kingdom. 

“It would be too dangerous,” Angelina sighed. She ran her finger over her lips. “For now, pay it no mind. I will send out a school to look it over. Should they consider it safe, I will think on it some more. The Deep Waters have been spotted on the outskirts as of late.” Her deep crimson eyes slid over the youths, finding Grelle behind them. With a tip of her head, she greeted her daughter. Then, she continued with those before her. “I have heard that there is a yet unexplored wreck on the southern side of the reef. It is a smaller ship, pulled here by the waves and tides. If you need something to do, then go look it over.” 

The youths were all smiles and nods, thanking their Queen for her time, before darting off in a curtain of bubbles. 

“Grelle,” Angelina said once the bubbles had disappeared. She floated away from her throne, pulling her daughter to her in a hug. “Good birthday to you, my love.” 

The Princess smiled, despite her unease from the nightmare. “Thank you, mother.” She pulled back and grinned sharply. “There is a new wreck, hm? Oh, p-l-e-a-s-e? May I look at it with the others?” 

“No, Grelle. You are not to leave the castle. Not right now. Please. Don’t argue with me.” 

Deflating, the Princess nodded. “Of course. Of course.” She turned away, swimming to one of the corners of the throne room. There was a little shelf there, built up from whale bones and shells. She pulled from this shell one of her mother’s trinkets; a small, broken locket from the human world. After stroking it with her thumb, she brought it with her to her mother. 

Angelina sighed. She dipped her head before flicking her tail, shooting over to her throne again. Grelle followed, settling down beside her in a smaller, rock seat. “Give it here.” 

Grelle smiled, putting the little trinket into her mother’s hand. The two women touched fingers, Angelina’s claws gently running across the pads of Grelle’s digits. “Twenty years ago,” the Queen’s voice purred, low and loving, “you were born. You were a flame, gifted to me by the sea herself. You burned within me, boiling the waters until you burst forth, whole and beautiful and perfect. My Grelle, my daughter--and the future Queen of this realm.” She opened the locket, revealing a faded, water stained image within.

It was black and white, and mostly destroyed by the salt of the water. If one squinted, just so, one would be able to make out a tall castle on land, nestled against the shore on one side and mountains on the other. 

“The sea gave you this locket on your birthday.” She folded her hand over it before pressing the cold silver metal against Grelle’s cheek. “A warning. You are never to see the land. You are the sea itself, Grelle. You are the waves and the water; the shells and the coral. You are beautiful, and perfect. The land would dull you, dry you out. It would destroy you, as the sea has destroyed this image within.” 

Laying her head against her mother’s tail, Grelle sighed, quietly. 

It was her prophecy, gifted to her via her strange birth. Though she loved listening to her mother tell it to her, once a year, she felt that it was wrong. 

The picture was not a warning. It was the opposite, really; it was a sign that she should go to the shore. That she should explore the human realm. It was trying to show her something, something beyond the waves and the world that she knew, below. 

It was showing her warmth instead of the cold chill of the ocean. 

Of William’s eyes. 

Grelle bit her bottom lip, tasting the salt of the sea and the iron of her blood, even as her mother stroked her hair. The image of the human castle was burned into her mind, even when she closed her eyes. She thought of it, now, curled up beside her mother. She thought of the human realm that she would never see, and of all of the things that she would never be able to experience. 

In one year, she would be married to William, and would be forever trapped below the surface of the water. 

In the salt of the ocean, tears were invisible. Still, she knew. 

She wept. 


	3. Blood in the Water

A year was plenty of time to twist a maiden’s heart, to turn her petty, to make her angry, to dull her once vibrant colors. In only a year’s time, less even, the bubbly, carefree nature of the Princess of the Coral Kingdom soured into something wicked. 

William watched, as he always did, through cold, green eyes. 

She was his, after all. 

Grelle sat on her smaller throne, beside her mother. The younger woman idly played with her hair, half listening to the complaints of those who lived within the Coral City--those who worshipped the Red Queen as their protector and ruler. Those who, in a short time, Grelle would be forced to watch over, to rule, to care for. 

She hated them. 

“--and the seaweed harvest this season is poor. The beds have been destroyed by the warming of the waters. We haven’t enough food to feed the city.” 

Angelina nodded, slowly, before looking to her daughter. “Grelle,” she said at length. “Do you have an idea for what to do about the shortage of food?” 

Huffing, Grelle crossed her arms over her chest. “The seaweed is only a part of what we eat. Harvest more fish--”

“--there are those that cannot stomach fish, my Princess,” the farmer said softly, wringing his hands together as he watched the fiery mermaid. If he was hoping for pity or understanding, he was certainly looking in the wrong place. 

“Then let them starve.” Grelle shrugged. She let out an impatient snarl. “Those that can’t eat fish are probably too weak to be of any good to the Kingdom, anyway.” 

With wide, horrified eyes, the farmer looked between the Princess and the Queen. He looked about ready to burst into tears, or worse. After a moment, he swallowed down his worry and surprise, bowed, and retreated from the throne room. 

Angelina turned, sharply, to her daughter. “Grelle!” she snapped, drawing herself off of her throne. She pulled her daughter up as well, so that they were both floating in the middle of the room. “What has gotten into you? You’ve become jaded. You aren’t my little fish anymore!” 

“Bah,” Grelle snapped. She swam away from the Queen, looking out of one of the cut-outs in the wall that served as a window. “What does it matter? You’ll step down as Queen soon enough, and I’ll be thrust into that spot.” 

“That is what worries me.” 

The two stared at each other for a moment. Grelle crossed her arms over her chest, sharp teeth bared. “I used to think that we were a lot alike, mother.” She pushed some of her hair away from her face, letting it float like a blot of blood, up into the water. “I thought we could be happy, just you and me, daughter and mother, Princess and Queen.” 

“Grelle--”

“I don’t love him.” Grelle took a sharp breath through her gills, and she turned away once more. “I thought, maybe, I could learn to. He is certainly handsome enough. There’s no kindness to him, though. No warmth. I...I hate who I am when I am around him. And even now, I can feel those damned eyes on me.” She shivered, maybe a bit too dramatically for her own good. “I want someone who is romantic, who has a  _ heat _ to him! William is not that man. As much as I would like him to be--he...he isn’t.” 

With a soft sigh, Angelina swam to her daughter’s side. She scooped her up, gathering her into her arms. Something crossed her features; something painful, and lost, and all together regrettable. 

Two days. Her daughter had two days until her fate was sealed. Until she was forced to marry William--and magic would be allowed to roam freely in the kingdom once more. Chaos would follow, and the Queen knew that. She knew that William would bring a reign of death and pain to her people--

\--but she had known that for years. For as long as Grelle had been her daughter. And now, now...It was ruining the one person she loved more than the kingdom itself. Angelina could see the hate growing in Grelle’s heart, the illness of destruction. She had become spiteful, angry. Violent. How many times had the younger mermaid been found with wisps of blood floating up from her hands, her teeth? 

It had made her little fish a shark. Angelina could no longer live with that fact. 

“Grelle,” the Queen said, her mind made up. She kissed her daughter’s forehead, gently. “I love you. You know that. So now, you must know the truth.’ 

“The...truth?” Grelle echoed, looking up at the Queen as she released her from her embrace. “What in the sea are you talking about?” Her brows arched up as a spot of confusion passed over her face. 

“You are not my daughter, Grelle. Not by blood.” Angelina swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut. She held herself, feeling like she was breaking apart. Surely, any moment now, her body would split and she would float away, pieces to the sea. “When you were young, I found you. You...you were human.” With eyes full of sorrow to thick it was tangible, she looked to Grelle. Now, she held out her hands, reaching. 

Reaching, because she knew she was going to lose her daughter. 

Reaching, because her world was falling apart. 

But she had to continue. She had to tell her the truth. She had to free her from this fate that she had forced upon her. She had to give her the chance to flee, to find her own place in the world, even if it was not beneath the azure waves she knew so well. 

Grelle pulled back, her green eyes wide. “I--” she whispered through barely parted lips. “I--”

“The ship you were on was sinking. I saw you, a drowning flame. I had to...I had to save you, Grelle. Our souls are so similar. They are the same! You were my daughter from that moment on, from that very second. I loved you more than anything else, Grelle. I took you into my arms! I took you to the Sea Witch, and I bargained for your life. For him to give you a tail, fins, gills. To give you a reason to live!” 

Angelina gasped out. Tears were invisible in the sea, but her eyes were misty and red all the same. “Please, Grelle, you have to understand. I did what was best for you--for us!” 

The Princess--no. She was not a princess, was she? Who was she? She was no one, nothing. Not even the mermaid she had always thought herself to be. This was all too much. She was going to burst from it, her head was going to explode and pour out into the water of the room. 

“You...you are lying!” Grelle shrieked. Anger clouded her mind, her vision going red. “You are lying!” 

Yet the Queen continued on, gasping out in soft whimpers and cries. “I bargained. William was the Sea Witch’s apprentice, then, as he is now. He is a Prince, Grelle, though the youngest of his people, his line. Royal blood for a royal child. I...I gave you, to him, to keep you alive. I promised this kingdom--for  _ you! _ I sold all of us--to give you a chance at life.” 

Heaving, Grelle threw herself at the woman she had once considered her mother. Filled with rage, with anger, with hate, hate, burning hate, she wrapped her hands around the Red Queen’s throat. The two looked into each others’ eyes, staring into each other for just a moment. 

A moment.

It was true, perhaps, that they shared a soul. They were both red, after all. Red, and passionate. Beautiful, angry, filled with sorrow, with longing. Maybe they could have been a mother and her daughter, once. Maybe, in a different life, they could have been together, with love, with understanding. 

Maybe they could have found happiness, somehow. 

But that was only a dream.

The crack of bone split the sound of the room. The light fled from Angelina’s eyes as her mouth went slack, her body limp. She folded in upon herself, neck snapped, crushed. The life was gone from her, leaving her dull.

Grelle pulled her hands back, shaking hard. 

There was no remorse. No sadness. Nothing. Blissful, sweet nothing. 

Yes. A year was plenty of time for the crimson light of the Princess to fade, to darken, until it was pitch black and as cold as the eyes of the man she was to wed. 


	4. Overboard

Ciel leaned against the railing of the ship, looking out over the calm waves of the sea. One day out of port and he already felt like he could relax. Out here, no one thought of him as anything other than a young boy--well. Almost. He glanced sideways, watching a black clad figure walk dutifully toward him. 

The boy released a sigh, pulling away from the side of the ship. He folded his arms over his chest, watching through one eye as the tall, slender man approached him. “Sebastian,” he mumbled. “I had hoped to at least get a breath of salty air without you hovering over my shoulder.” 

“My apologies,” the man said, a slight smirk upon his face. Dashing, handsome, and outwardly kind, Sebastian was the High Prince of the Kingdom of Sand by the Sea.  _ Worse yet, _ Ciel thought with a grumble in the back of his throat,  _ my adopted father.  _

Three years had passed since Ciel’s family was murdered and his own country overrun by a cult that had gained too much power, far too quickly. Sebastian had been on holiday there, and swiftly rescued the young prince by whisking him away to Sand by the Sea. With no one else to turn to, Ciel begged Sebastian to adopt him, to keep him off of the streets, to keep him safe. 

Little had he known that Sebastian was a doting, overprotective father figure, and one that wanted the very best for his newfound son. Smothered by the man’s love, Ciel sought escape, freedom--even just a moment to himself to think. 

As though reading Ciel’s thoughts, Sebastian smiled brightly. “You have not come to your lessons yet. I was worried that you would slip behind during our holiday. It would seem that I was correct.” 

“Sebastian! We are taking a break! We are literally on a ship on the ocean. I do not think a week of me missing my lessons is going to ruin my intelligence.” Ciel glowered at the man, his young face pulled into a frown. “Besides--I would rather have a few days, at least, of being able to relax without you shoving historical texts or violin lessons down my throat.” 

Still, the High Prince smiled. He looked very cat-like, in that moment. All sweet and innocent, though should his eyes gleam in the sun, one could make out a bit of playful malice in his intentions. “How would Lady Elizabeth feel about that, I wonder.” 

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare pull her into this!” 

“You are to marry her, remember. She certainly does not wish to have a husband who is not cultured and learned.” 

“She and I are still too young--”

“--and within a few years, you won’t be. Now. Would you like to start with language lessons first, or shall I prepare strategy?” 

Turning back to the sea, Ciel shook his head. “I suppose, if I must, I would rather begin with strategy. Though a cup of tea would be welcomed as well. And something to eat.”

Sebastian frowned, his reddish-brown eyes snapping open. “Haven’t you had breakfast yet?” 

“No, I haven’t. My stomach was a bit sour when I first awoke.” Something moved in the water, just beside a small outcropping of rocks that jutted up out of the glass-like surface of the sea. Something red--flame red--and  _ living. _ Ciel leaned over the railing now, trying to get a better view. Leaning, leaning, leaning--

He realized he was too far over the edge a second too late. 

Crying out, he tried to grab on to the lip of the railing, to the ship itself, to anything he could find. There was a puff of air behind him as Sebastian missed latching onto the back of his coat. Flailing, he grasped for anything--anything!--and found nothing but open air as he tumbled, end over end, into the ocean below. 

_ I am going to die, _ was the only thing he could think as the chill of the water forced the air from his lungs. Flashes of pain echoed through his back, his neck; had he hit something on his way down? Numb and frightened, he began to panic, began to draw water into his mouth in an attempt to breathe. He floundered, darkness playing at the edges of his sight. Screams. Someone was shouting, yelling--but they were above the water, and he, trapped below. 

Then that smear of red, again, and strong arms wrapped around his middle--

\--he was being pulled up, up, up--

Ciel broke the surface of the water, screaming until he found it within him to gulp down blessed mouthfuls of salty air. He coughed and spat, heaving and retching, until the water he had swallowed was gone. Someone pounded on his back, trying to help, and for that, he was thankful. Obviously, Sebastian must have jumped in after him, dutiful father that he was…

Until the young boy realized that, when he looked upward, he could vaguely make out Sebastian’s worried face peering down at him from over the edge of the ship’s rail. Heaving, Ciel turned his head a bit, finding himself in the arms of a dangerous looking mermaid, her hair like fire and her lips parted to reveal a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. 

“Hush,” she whispered. “You are going to be alright.” 

“You--you’re--”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a fish.”

“Ah. Mermaid, I prefer. And you are a human. You are much smaller than I thought your kind would be.” She blinked at him, frowning, her green eyes shimmering like emeralds. “You are shaking.” 

“It’s f-freezing,” Ciel realized, his teeth chattering. He returned his attention to the ship. “Send down a lifeboat, and then you can haul me up!” Clinging to the strange creature that had saved him, he watched someone aboard ready one of the lifeboats, as he had ordered. It took him a moment to realize that Sebastian had boarded the small boat as well, heaped up with blankets. “Swim over to the boat, please.” 

The redhead nodded, holding him in her arms while her tail did all of the work. It was a bit difficult; Ciel realized she was probably not used to carrying a young, teenage human boy in her grasp while swimming on the water’s surface. The moment she was close enough, she passed Ciel over to Sebastian’s waiting arms. 

“Don’t throw your young into the ocean, hm?” the mermaid teased. She smiled sharply at the High Prince. “It doesn’t end well. I promise you that.” 

“I will keep that in mind, madame,” Sebastian replied. He forced Ciel under no less than four thick, wool blankets, rubbing him to bring the warmth back into his arms and chest. “My thanks for rescuing my son.” 

Laughing lightly, the mermaid pulled herself over the side of the lifeboat, making it wobble a bit. She was half in, half out, with her long, red tail still dangling in the water. “Your son, hm?” Something played behind her eyes; Ciel realized she looked sad, despite the weird smile on her face. “How lucky you are.” 

“Merfolk exist?” Ciel asked, teeth still chattering.

“Apparently so.”

“Why did you rescue me? In the stories, your kind...well. You aren’t gentle people, are you?” 

The red head rolled her shoulders in something that looked like a shrug. “We can be, I suppose. It’s...complicated. Just as, I am sure, your kind can be. Now. Get back onto your little boat thing and rest.” She leaned in, carefully brushing some of Ciel’s hair out of his eyes. Damp as it was, it stayed put. Her eyes looked to Sebastian again. “Take care of him, love.” She started to move, to go back below the waves. 

“Wait!” Ciel shouted, grabbing her hand. “What--what is your name?” 

She paused, looking at him. Her eyes grew more gentle, her smile a bit more tame. “My name is Grelle,” she said, carefully, and kissed the top of his hand. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to find a new place to live.” 

It was Sebastian who stopped her next. “We have to do something to thank you. You say you are in need of a living space? What do you prefer?” 

Grelle clicked her tongue. “I...I am not sure. I’ve swum away from home, honestly. Something...bad...happened, and I am not welcomed there any longer. I suppose just a nice little reef, with plenty of seaweed for a bed and a lot of little fish to eat.” She shrugged a bit. “Maybe near a shipwreck, so I have something to explore when I am bored.” 

“I see.” Sebastian frowned. “You are more than welcome to follow our ship, if you care to, back to our Kingdom. Sand by the Sea does not have any reefs that I am aware of, but there are plenty of stretches of beaches, and a few well-known shipwrecks just off of the shore. You might be comfortable there, for a time. It would allow me a grace period in getting you a proper reward for saving my son, as well.” 

“And you could visit,” Ciel spat out, surprising himself. He had been so bitter since his family were murdered. This flame in the sea was bringing something out of him, something he thought he had lost. “P-please?” 

Grelle chuckled, pulling a few of the blankets closer around Ciel. “Alright,” she said, rolling her ‘r’ as she spoke. “It might be fun. I will follow your ship, then--if you’ll come down on this little boat and speak to me at night.” 

“Very well. We will return to the kingdom, post-haste. I will come to speak with you tonight--Ciel should rest, however. By tomorrow, we should be home, so you do not have a long swim ahead of you, madame.” Sebastian offered her a tight smile. “Until then.” 

“Until then,” Grelle purred, and hoisted herself out of the lifeboat. It rocked back and forth, adjusting from suddenly having less weight, and then the surface of the sea was still once more. 


	5. The Deal

The Red Queen had been murdered. 

Her throne room was in disarray when one of the guards found her limp corpse, floating, slightly, in the water of the castle. With her neck snapped, it seemed to have been a quick death, at least. There was a bit of blood, too, floating up from her ears and her lips, tainting the salty waters with a pink hue. A few tiny fish had already started to nibble on her corpse, unaware of whom they were supping upon. Stupid creature, obviously. 

It was not long after that everyone within the castle, within the city, began to look for the Princess. If the Queen had been murdered, then surely she was in danger as well. Surely she had to be safe. 

Surely. 

Hours passed. Worry filled the members of the court, the denizens of the city. Rumors started to pile up, tongues wagging and imaginations running wild. 

“The Queen was murdered by the Court of the Deep Sea! They kidnapped the Princess!” 

“No! Obviously it was the Winter Waters. Beasts, they are!” 

“Can’t you see? The Queen was killed by one of her guards, and the Princess ran away with him!” 

“You’re an idiot--”

“--it’s so plain to see--”

Noise. Noise. Noise. 

William huffed, his eyes squeezed shut as he blocked out every voice around him. He swam with purpose, through the crowded paths of the underwater city, toward the castle. The bioluminescence along the length of his tail was glowing brightly, all of his spots visible and angry. 

Two days. He had only needed two more days, and then…

Coming upon the castle proper, he paused before the main entrance. Two guards looked him over, quickly, then let him in. In being the crown Princess’ betrothed, he was allowed into places easily, no matter how much the Kingdom of Coral hated his own Court. Deep Sea merfolk were loathed here, and usually killed upon sight. He was certain that there were many of the guards that would have still run him through, had they the chance. 

No matter. They were nothing, in the long run. Just bodies that had not yet died. In that, at least, he found comfort. Everyone died, eventually. 

Everyone, save for him.

William slipped into the throne room proper. The Queen’s body had already been taken away, though the smell of her blood still hung in the water, like a perfume. He had to cover his nose and gills as best he could to keep his bloodlust from driving him into a frenzy. Even after years of training himself, steeling himself, just a touch of blood was enough to make him lose himself. 

“Oh, Sir William!” one of the guards said. He swam over quickly. “We had hoped you were still around.” 

“Where else would I go?” 

“Ah, well...y-you’ve been known to slip away--”

William glared at the young guard, his cold eyes glowing just as much as the spots on his tail. “I travel back to my own Kingdom on occasion, yes. When I do, half of the royal guard is alerted, and many of your comrades go with me to make certain no one makes an attempt on my life.” He glanced around the room. “What is your excuse here, then? Honestly--allowing the Queen herself to be murdered in her own throne room.” 

The guard shrank back, worrying his hands together. “Ah, my apologies, sir.” 

“Indeed.” William moved forward, floating just enough to edge around the sides of the room. There were plenty of entry points--a slim mermaid or merman could slip easily through the windows. “When was Grelle last seen?” 

“The Queen was holding court...seeing farmers about the crops and what to do. The Princess was with her, then. From what we’ve gathered, s-sir, the Queen and the Princess had a bit of a fight, and then...well.” He looked over the room, to where the Queen’s corpse had been floating just a few minutes before. The guard shivered at the memory of her pale skin--already turning blue--and her eyes, wide and lifeless in her skull. “There was a scream. A few of our men entered the room, and found the Queen.” 

“The Princess was already gone?” 

Nodding slowly, the guard crossed his arms over his chest. “We found a few strands of her hair, stuck to the window openings, and some of the pearls she usually wears scattered to the floor.” He pointed; a few of the black orbs were still settled on the ground, nestled between the coral pieces. 

William furrowed his brow. “...I see,” he mumbled. 

“Do you think that your...ah... _ employer _ would have any insight? We could use help of that nature.” 

“Magic is not allowed within the walls of the castle,” William said sharply. He peered at the guard, his eyes beyond cold now. They were absolutely frigid; the scowl could turn lava to ice in a moment. “Unless you had forgotten.” 

The guard nodded, turning away so the would-be-King could not see his face heat up. “I-I apologize, sir. We just...we don’t know what else to do.” 

Letting a sigh from his lips, William offered a curt nod. “I will discuss what has transpired with my Master, yes. There might be something that we will be able to do in retrieving my betrothed and bringing the murderer to some kind of justice.” He rubbed at his temples. “I will return to the castle in a few hours. Until then--no one is allowed in, and no one is allowed out. Is that understood?”

Snapping to attention, the guard saluted. “My-my apologies, Sire!” He frowned, just so. “You are all we have now, Sir. You are already in line to be the next King, via marriage to Princess Grelle. Without the Queen...well. The Princess  _ is  _ the Queen, now.” Fretting yet again, he looked down and away from William. “Which means that, technically, you are King.” 

“...I suppose that is true, isn’t it,” William said without emotion. “Very well. Then listen to my orders, would you? No one in, no one out--save for myself. Now. If you would excuse me.” 

Slipping out of the castle, William felt a weight both press down into him, and pull away from him. He was King now--the guards along the way out seemed to understand that as well. Even as he swam through the city below, the people saluted him, bowed to him. As the knowledge of what had happened spread, they fell upon him, now, as their King. 

Thinking on that, he could not help but grin.

\--until the reality set in. The Coral Kingdom would serve a King, but they prefered a Queen. He had already worked it out in his mind that the former Queen, Angelina, had been murdered at the hands of her own adopted daughter. Who else would she allow so close? He knew, too, from sparring with her, that Grelle was a powerful creature, all lithe muscle and impossible speed. She might not have been born a merfolk, but she was certainly one of the best of them. 

Should Grelle return, for whatever reason, he would have to properly marry her. He would have to bow to her, to her whims. He knew she was too flighty, too angry to be a proper ruler. They were so different, the two of them. 

He could think, and calculate. He could rule without allowing anything to get in his way. 

She, however, was a being of raw emotion. Anger ruled her--she could not rule it. An angry Queen, one that was easily swayed by something as base as emotions--would lead ruin into the Kingdom of Coral. Into the Kingdom that William had grown to love, as his own. 

He could keep the people safe. 

Grelle, he knew, would lead them to their deaths, prematurely. 

With this thought in mind, William pumped the muscles in his tail. He forced his body forward in the water, a black streak outlined in neon green and yellow, until he was out of the city proper. Into the darker waters, into the waters of the nearby trench. Into the forbidden grotto, nestled between two sunken ships. 

“Undertaker,” he snapped, pushing his way into the small dwelling. 

“Heheheh...back so soon, little King?” The tentacled man unfurled from one of his hiding holes, pooling out like liquid smoke onto the floor of the grotto. He pulled himself up, head tipped to one side. Behind a curtain of silver bangs, he looked at his apprentice. “Isn’t this what you have always craved?” 

“It is,” William said. He settled on one of the nearby rocks that served as a chair. “In a way.” 

“Oh? Something isn’t to your liking, hm?” the Sea Witch cackled. He swirled forward, black tentacles pulsing. He did not seem real. Not when he moved like that. 

Still, William was used to him. He ignored the odd movements for a moment, pulling up a bottle. A gross, thick, purple liquid swirled around inside. “Is this the one to turn a merfolk into a human?” 

“Eheheheh...you have a plan, William. Are you going to share?” 

“She is still alive. She was not kidnapped--but you know that. You know everything that goes on within that castle.” 

“I do.”

“...then you know what really happened.” 

“Heheheh...I do, William. I see where you are going with this. Try the pink one, second shelf.” The Sea Witch grinned, pulling back a bit. “Are you making a deal with me, then?” 

William shot the other man a long suffering look. “You and your damned deals. Are you a merman or a demon? Honestly, sometimes, I wonder.” He took the pink potion, as directed, from the spot on the shelf. At least this one looked passable in its thickness. It even had small specks of gold in it, shimmering softly in the dim light of the grotto. “Very well.” 

“What do you want to do, William? You are going after the Princess...are you so certain she would go to the human world?” 

“Where else would she go?” William placed the bottle on a makeshift, stone table in the center of the room. A few, glowing fish darted by. He grabbed one to chew on while he thought. “I am assuming that the Queen finally told her--”

“Ah, you would be correct.” 

“Then she would know that she does not belong here, in the sea, any longer. She is a flighty creature; topside would suddenly seem more appealing than swimming for the rest of her existence. She will demand somewhere comfortable to hide.” 

“Heheheh...you know your wife well, William.” 

“She is not my wife,” the younger of the two men snapped. He touched the potion bottle with a frown. “Nor will she ever be. Should she return to this Kingdom, she will gain power over me, as the law states. Even as King now, I cannot change that law. It would throw the people into an upheaval. However, should she never return…”

The Sea Witch’s pale, scarred face broke into the largest grin William had ever seen. The man lurched forward, grabbing the young King by the throat. “You plan to kill her?” 

William pushed him away. “I do,” he said, without hesitation, without remorse. “She is dangerous. She will lead this Kingdom to ruin. I cannot allow that.” He sighed. “Name your price.” 

Undertaker chuckled, settling back on his tentacles. “My price? Indeed...hehehehe. For this, I require her heart--”

“Done.”

“--and the heart of the person she holds the most dear.” 

A scowl poured over Wiliam’s face. He glared at the man opposite of him. “I am to figure out who she loves? Honestly...She loves no one more than she loves herself.”

“Perhaps.” The Sea Witch chuckled lightly, tapping his long fingernails together. “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?” Motioning to the table, he drew William’s attention to two things. One--the pink potion, still cheerily shimmering in its bottle, and two--a silver bladed dagger, the hilt embedded with garnets and rubies. “Cut out her heart with this dagger, but only after you’ve cut out the heart of the person she holds most dear. Make her watch. It flavors the blood, and makes it stronger to use in concoctions and spells.” 

William reached forward, scooping up the dagger. “I see,” he mumbled. “Very well. I will bring you her heart, and the heart of her love, for use of this potion. When I return, when I have taken the throne properly, you will be allowed to return to the castle. I will need your aid.” 

“Hehehehe...indeed, you will, William. Indeed, you will.” 


	6. A Moonlit Meeting

There was a soft splash as the lifeboat hit the water. Two men stood watch above, ready to pull the High Prince out of danger should the fiery mermaid turn deadly. They held lanterns and swords, both at the ready. One had a flintlock pistol at his hip, just in case that was needed, too. 

Sebastian sat calmly in the boat, looking over the edge. All throughout the day, he and the others aboard had watched the mermaid, a streak of red in the endless void of blue sea. She was surprisingly quick, more than able to keep up with the ship as it sped back to Sand by the Sea. Now, however, when they had agreed to meet for the evening, she was nowhere to be seen. 

No matter. The High Prince hummed softly to himself, thinking as his eyes darted over the water. Ciel was safe, though he would probably end up with a minor cold. Things could have been far worse, had their new fishy friend not appeared to help the boy. Sebastian grunted, ashamed.  _ I failed him. He fell; for a moment, I floundered, and I could not reach him in time. Had I been a bit quicker--and had I taught him to swim-- _ The thoughts were invasive, drowning out any semblance of sense. 

So caught up in his musings was he that Sebastian failed to notice the rocking of the boat as the mermaid hoisted herself inside. Well. Almost inside. Counting her tail, she was well double the size of the small lifeboat, so some of her length had to hang over the edge, still in the salty water. 

“That handsome face is worried,” she purred, drawing Sebastian out of his stupor. “Good evening, then, hm?” 

“Yes. Good evening. My apologies.” 

“You are worried about your son?” 

“...I am.” Sebastian leaned back a bit, as far as the bench-like seat would allow him to comfortably. “This was meant to be a holiday of sorts. A week for he and I to relax. Now it has been cut short. There is a very good chance he will become sick from his dip in the sea.” He sighed. “Grelle, was it?” 

“Mm-hm. And you’re--”

“High Prince Sebastian Michaelis of Sand by the Sea.” He put his hand on his chest, smiling politely as he had his entire life when giving his name and title. “I will be King, one day, of this entire country, should something happen to our current ruler.” 

Grelle tilted her head to one side. “Hm.” 

“You do not seem convinced.” 

She shrugged, slightly, and started to play with her damp hair. “Where I am from, royalty is usually a bit...grander looking.” With her other hand, she motioned to the length of her tail. It was just as red as her hair, and powerful looking; Sebastian found himself hoping she did not take a turn and decide to hit him with it. He would lose his head, for certain. 

Still, he took in how long she was, how elegant and powerful. “I take it you are of royalty yourself, then.”

“...I was,” Grelle admitted, and looked away. “There was...an accident, I suppose you could say. Blood on the water. I had to leave, to protect myself.” She furrowed her brow a bit, sighing. “That is why I am looking for a new home.” 

Despite himself, Sebastian found himself chuckling. “It would seem that I have a knack for finding displaced royals. Ciel was much the same--his family was murdered, and his kingdom overrun. I took him in thereafter, as my son.” Why was it so easy to talk to her? She was a mermaid, a monster of the sea; he had heard so many stories of her kind devouring lost sailors, and singing them into a gorey demise. Maybe that was something of her allure; maybe he would say whatever she wanted to hear, and then, done with him, she would kill him. The thought made him shiver, just a touch. 

The mermaid looked away, watching the ship beside them. “Your friends don’t like me much, do they.” She cocked an eyebrow at them, watching the two deckhands as they peered down at her, swords gleaming against the light of their lanterns. 

“They are only protecting me, I assure you.” 

“Aren’t you able to protect yourself?” 

“Of course.” Sebastian smiled. “It makes them feel better to be useful, though.” 

Grelle hummed quietly at that. She leaned into the boat a little more, pulling herself as far in as she was able to without capsizing the damned thing. This brought her close to Sebastian, who only watched. She could smell him--he smelled of something familiar, but nothing she could place a fin on. Something earthy, and wonderful, but all together not of the sea. 

He watched her, still amazed that such a creature could exist. Then a thought, just a thought, popped into his head so quickly it startled him. “There is a magic user, just outside of the city walls, where I live,” he said. “He calls himself the Witch of the Sands. He is a friendly fellow, if not odd. I can order him to give you legs--and if you do, if you wish, you could come to live in the castle, proper, with Ciel and I.” 

She looked at him with wide, green eyes. Blinking, she tipped her head to one side. “You want me to be human?” Turning back to her tail, she stroked it, hand ghosting over the slick, cold scales. Something passed over her features, turning her into a sorrowful beauty. 

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. Just a moment, but it was there. He reached forward, gently taking her hand. “If not for me,” he whispered, “then for Ciel. You saved his life. It would mean so much to him if you were around, more so than just at the beach. He needs more in his life than just myself, as loathe as I am to admit it.” 

The mermaid puckered her lips, lost in thought still. “I will try,” she said, finally. “Though if it is not to my liking, I will ask for my tail back, thank you.” 

“Of course.” Sebastian kissed the top of her hand, tasting the salt of the sea and the sweetness of her skin. He smiled devilishly when she blushed, just as scarlet as her hair, just as crimson as her tail. 

Darker thoughts played in his mind, then, passing behind the reddish-brown of his eyes. Another sweet kiss over the top of her knuckles, and then he released her. “Tomorrow, when we come into port, I will find you and lead you to the Witch of the Sands. It will please Ciel to no end, I am sure.” 

Grelle smiled, her teeth sharp and deadly. “Very well,” she purred. “Tomorrow, then.” 

And then she was gone, having pushed herself back into the depths of the sea, making only a small splash. 


	7. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm back after a bit of a break that I used to write a completely different fan fiction. >.> Please excuse my absence from this plot. I hope to smoothly transition back into writing this story.

The High Prince’s ship returned to port with much fanfare and confusion. The vessel had been chartered for a much longer trip than a scant few days; at least a week or more. Once the flag of the kingdom rose up the mast, into the skies above, those upon the shore took note, and prepared. 

As such, the docks were alive, banners spread to welcome back the High Princes Sebastian and his adopted son, the Prince Ciel, of Phantomhive. No one standing there, welcoming them back, expected the streak of crimson that accompanied the ship. 

“Sea monster!” someone screamed, and everyone fell into a flurry of fear and panic. 

Still, the ship docked, those aboard quickly exiting onto dry land. Sebastian and Ciel were announced, the two of them walking down the gangplank together. Within a second of seeing the fear upon his people, Sebastian offered a tight-lipped, long suffering smile. “Now,” he said, voice booming without a yell. “Calm yourselves. ‘Tis no sea monster, but a lady of the waves. She has seen us home, and saved the Prince Ciel from the watery depths below. You will treat her with the utmost respect.” 

Grelle popped her head above the water, watching with bright green eyes, as the people watched her in return. She offered them a small wave and a smile, her teeth hidden for now. 

At the words from their High Prince, most of the people settled in and down, calm and easy. One of the women on shore waved back to the mermaid, and a few of the children there edged closer to the water to look upon her better. 

There were a few men, though--men of the sea, who made their lives fishing or transporting goods--who looked upon her with even more hatred and panic than they had before. “She’s sung to him,” one of them hissed. “Got him under her spell, she does.” 

“Enough,” Sebastian snapped, watching the men as he strode toward the water. “Miss Grelle, I do apologize for the stupidity of my people. I love them so, but they are not worldly beings. They do not understand what they do not know.” He spoke to her softly, and only for her; she nodded quickly to him, eyes still watching the men. 

With a thick, woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Ciel huffed. “I have had enough of the sea for now. Let us return home, Sebastian. I would like my own bed to ride out this stupid cold.” 

“Of course. I will have one of the servants escort you. I am afraid I have business elsewhere.” Sebastian offered the boy a smile, which received a deep frown in return. “I will be home within the next hour or so, I promise.” 

“You’d better.” Ciel shook his head. “Be safe,” he added, as though an afterthought. Then he stalked off, surrounded by guards and one of the many servants of the castle who had come to port to welcome the royals home. 

One of the guards remained behind--a man with odd hair, blonde on top and a dark brown at the base of his neck. His eyes were bright and cheerful, almost as neon green as Grelle’s, but there was so much more humanity to him. He had to be young, she thought to herself; he looked a bit fresher to the world than Sebastian did. The man peered down at the mermaid, a sweet smile on his face. 

“Ahoy,” he chuckled. 

“Ah...hello.”

The guard squatted down on the pier, his leather armor creaking a bit as he settled down to speak with her. “So you saved the Prince?” 

“Mm,” Grelle hummed. She grabbed the wood of the dock and brought herself up, seating herself beside the young man. She wrung out her long hair, letting the chilly water fall back into the ocean. “He fell overboard. I really had no other choice.” 

“I see.” He chuckled a bit. “I haven’t seen one of your kind for a bit. Not since the Prince was brought here, to safety.” 

Grelle raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked, giving him her attention now. “Was he saved then, too?” Did the boy have a history of falling off of ships? Clumsy thing.

“No, nothing like that.” He lowered his voice, eyes glancing to Sebastian as the High Prince gave orders to the captain of the ship. “The Prince’s father was half mer himself--father was some kind of merman, though I don’t know how or why he decided to have a kid with a human woman. So, when the Prince feels something powerfully emotional...well.” 

The redhead sucked in a breath, first through her gills--which made her choke--then through her nose proper. “He can change?”

“...yeah. He wasn’t completely himself when he first came here, years ago. But that’s just between the two of us. You might be able to help him, somehow, you know. No one else seems to be able to, not even Othello.” 

“Othello?” 

“Ah. Our local witch. Witch of the Sands, though I just call him a Sandwich. He is a snack, if you get my drift.” 

Grelle furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Humans are...odd.” She offered him her hand, either way, and dipped her head a bit. “My name is Grelle. I come from the Kingdom of Coral--I am the Princess.” She winced. “Was, I suppose, now.” 

The guard quickly offered her a half-bow, just a tilt of his head, and took her hand to kiss her knuckles. “My name is Ronald Knox. I’m the captain of the guard, and the head of the royal army. It’s my job to protect him.” With his free hand, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing it in Sebastian’s direction. “I would have gone with them out to see, but...ah. I get dreadfully sea sick, and I can’t swim to save my life, let alone anyone else’s.” He shrugged. “I guess I could have flown if needed, but landing--” 

“...flown?” Grelle questioned, a frown on her face as she looked him over. “You aren’t a bird.” 

Ronald grinned, almost in a wicked manner, the leather cape on his back twitching to life. It split and shredded, forming wings like those of a bat’s, but feathered like a bird’s. There Was a look to his face and eyes now, the youth of him gone into something twisted and ageless. Then it was gone again, leaving the bright and sunny youthful guard in its place. “Sluagh,” he mumbled, ignoring the looks he was getting from those on shore. “It took the humans a very long time to trust me, even though I’ve been bound to this kingdom for decades.” 

She stared at him, eyes wide in her skull and her fins raised up by instinct, trying to make herself look larger than she was. With a suppressed shiver, she looked away from the man--the fae creature--and to the water again. “So there is more to you than you’d let on, hm?’ 

“And you,” Ronald chuckled. “And to you, your Majesty.” 

“Ronald,” Sebastian said, his tone somewhere between amusement and scolding as he approached the two. “Are you showing off for our guest?” 

“Aye,” the guard chuckled. He rose to his feet, saluting the High Prince. With a lopsided grin, he shrugged. “She seems alright, sir. You’re taking her to Othello?” 

“I am.”

“Then I will follow.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes skyward, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Off to see your boyfriend, then.” He full-on grinned when his guard blushed, rubbing his hands together. “I have given you both my blessing to wed; I do not know why you haven’t yet.” 

“He’s a witch, I’m a fae. Our families wouldn’t approve of the union, sir. Besides. It’s more of an...uh. Open relationship.” 

“You still like to bed the women, hm?” 

“I mean...yes.” 

Grelle listened to them chatter along, only half following the conversation now. There was a chill to the air that she was more interested in. The coolness of it felt painfully familiar. Yes, she knew that breeze, that frozen whisper upon her skin, though this was her first time feeling it above the water. 

It felt of William, her betrothed, her chains to the world below. 

Her eyes scanned the waves, the water, but she saw nothing other than the relatively calm sea, and the sun as it started to dip down below the horizon. 


	8. Cold

The locket was William’s only clue. 

Upon returning to the Coral Castle, he had discovered the trinket, tucked away. It smelled, heavily, of Grelle, of the dead queen; it smelled of the world above and the sea below. Inside, he found a water stained photograph.

Frowning, as he made his way to a secluded spot outside of the city, he studied the picture within the tarnished gold of the jewelry piece. There was a tall castle, all cut marble stone and something more grey, nestled between the seafront and what he could only assume were mountains. 

He knew of these things, of course. Yet, he had never risen to the surface. He was, after all, a Deep Sea merman; his kind did not do well away from the bottom of the ocean. The fact that he was able to survive this close to the dry-world above was a testament to his magical capabilities. 

He was no witch; William knew damned well that he was a sorcerer. Witches dealt in potions and deals; they drew their magic from being able to  _ make  _ something that did something. The Sea Witch, Undertaker, for example, could brew a potion out of anything; that knowledge of what to mix into it came naturally to him. It could be taught, and learned, but it would never be  _ natural  _ to William. 

With a quiet frown and a cold glare, he put the locket into the small sack tied around his waist. It held the potion and the dagger, as well as a few coins that he had been taught would hold value to the humans in the world above. 

The world above was vast, though not as large as the sea. William knew he would be able to find Grelle, easily enough--all he needed was a starting point. The photograph within the locket was exactly what he needed. If he could find that human kingdom, then he was certain he could find her trail. 

Then the dagger would pierce her chest, and he would be King, forever more. 

_ “If you see my grandson, tell him hello,” _ the Sea Witch had laughed as he waved William good-bye. 

That bastard could see everything, honestly; William knew that Undertaker knew exactly where Grelle was. Yet, that would ruin the witch’s game, to tell the new King where his target lay.  _ “You have two months,”  _ the Sea Witch smirked.  _ “You have two months to find your prey, and her love; a moment longer and you will turn to sea foam.” _

__ _ “I will not need that much time.” _

__ _ “Ah. Heheheh, as you say, your Majesty.” _

__ William growled, lowly, in the bottom of his chest. The bioluminescent spots on his tail glowed brighter, almost blindingly so; with refreshed resolve, he darted through the ocean, following the flow of the water, until he came to a large island. 

Gasping air for the first time in his life, the merman carefully beached himself. He looked around, spying a town in the distance--and mountains beyond that. The top of a spire caught his attention--it looked to be made of stone and marble, much like the photograph in the locket. 

Here. 

Without wasting a moment more, he opened the satchel at his side and emptied the pink liquid of the potion into his mouth. It tasted oddly sweet and bubbled all the way down his throat. At first, nothing happened. He waited, frowning. Had the Sea Witch tricked him? It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time--

_ Pain. _

It was sudden, sharp, burning. It blossomed up through his torso, down through his tail. He could feel as bones grew and snapped; as his lower body split and reformed. There was blood; there was agonizing pain as it ripped through him, into him. Red. He saw red, felt his teeth shift, everything was wrong. 

The air was suddenly less thick, less pressing. He lay in the sand of the shore, sucking in the oxygen like there was no tomorrow. He was cold and wet; he was shaking. Slowly, slowly, William ran his hand--no longer webbed between his long, slender fingers--down his chest, then his stomach. Lower. Ah. He was human, and disgustingly so. 

No long, slender tail. No humming lights along his body; no scales. William choked out a wheeze as his lungs finished settling, no longer having to support gills as well. His bones were solid, and all of his flexibility was gone. 

Weak. This form was  _ weak. _

After a moment of allowing the last dredges of pain to pass, William forced himself to his newly formed feet. His legs were long and well toned, but shaking. A few steps forward and he promptly fell flat on his face. 

“Damn it all,” he hissed, suddenly aware of how his voice sounded above water. It was stronger than he had hoped, though as cold as ever. 

Cold.

Yes, Grelle had called him that on numerous occasions. Why could she not understand that emotions were weakness? He had locked most of them out, long ago, after being cast from his home at the bottom of the sea. All of his family thought him ugly, thought him a monster; he could control things that no other Deep Sea merfolk could. Sadness. Anger. Burning hatred.

He had locked them all away, the moment Grelle had fallen into the sea. The moment he watched her body shift and change from that of a human child into a graceful, beautiful mermaid. 

That emotion, above all others, frightened him. That stirring in his chest, the want to touch her, to hold her, to be with her. To  _ love _ her. At the time, he knew he was nothing. A prince in name alone. No. He was the apprentice of a Sea Witch with the hopes of learning how to control his abilities. He had been nothing but a child himself, and children were creatures of whims and fancies. 

So he locked that part of himself away, deep, deep inside. It grew surrounded by ice, by the impossible cold of a man with no heart. There, in the darkness of his being where there was no light, that child lay. Forgotten, mostly, frozen and dead to the world. 

Things were better that way, after all. He could  _ think _ , logically, without the unneeded pang of feelings lingering in the back of his mind. He could command, and build, destroy, and lead, if needed, without the fear or worry of guilt, of sorrow. 

William could be King, and rightfully so, without all of the baggage of emotion. 

He forced himself to stand again, digging his new toes into the sand until he figured out his balance. Then, one step at a time, he made his way through the sandy shore until he found the paved path leading into the small town nearby. 


	9. The Reunion

Swimming in the shallows was something that Grelle discovered, very quickly, to be uncomfortable. The sandy bottom of the shore was rough against her tender underbelly. She knew damned well that she would be all scratched and scuffed by the time she, Sebastian, and Ronald had reached their destination. 

Maybe it would be worth it, in the end, for legs. 

“It isn’t much longer now, my lady,” Sebastian called. He was firmly on shore, his pant legs rolled up to his knees and his polished boots in hand. He walked along, barefoot, the chill of the day seeming to offer no bother to him. Ronald was a bit further up on land, as far from the ocean as he could get while still being close to his liege. 

“I certainly hope so,” Grelle grumbled, feeling a rather sharp rock slice into her scales. Hissing back a spat of pain, she shook her head. Continue forward. Continue. She forced herself to think of something other than her discomfort. “You did not tell me that Ciel is part mer.” 

That stopped Sebastian short. He turned on her, his eyes suddenly icy. She shivered, despite herself; for that one moment, he reminded her of William, her betrothed she had left back in the Kingdom of Coral. Were all handsome men made of ice? 

“Who told you such a thing?” he asked, voice firm and quiet. “That is not common knowledge--not even to my adopted son.” 

“He doesn’t know?” 

“He doesn’t remember shifting, no.” Sebastian watched her, still waiting for an answer. 

Grelle shrugged, one shoulder lifting up before falling again. “Ask your personal guard,” she mumbled as she pushed some of her hair out of her face. “He is a bit of a chatterbox, isn’t he?” 

Sebastian rolled his gaze to Ronald, further up the beach, and huffed. “Ah. I suppose he is.” Sighing, the High Prince shook his head. “At any rate, let us continue. The Witch of the Sand has a home on the far edge of this beach--if you are able to look, it is just over those dunes…”

“What sort of merfolk is Ciel, when he changes?” Grelle hummed. She lifted herself up out of the water as best she could, looking forward. In the air, her sight was a little blurred, but she could make out the well-thatched roof of a building. A bit of oddly colored smoke poured up out of a chimney, cheerfully, but it smelled of something familiar. Something locked away, in the back of her mind, from long ago. 

_ Black licorice. _

Memories that belonged to her from long ago sped into her head, forcing her to pause. She could not breathe, she could not stop the spew of thoughts, of feelings, emotions. 

_ The child gasped, heaving. She clung to her brother, holding his hand tightly in her own. “You have to go on the ship,” her brother said, leaning down to look her in the eyes. They were almost ten years apart, yet she was already almost as tall as him. “The sailors will protect you. They will get you back to mother and father, alright?” As he spoke, his breath smelled of those little candy pieces he loved so much. Black licorice.  _

__ _ He smiled weakly as he ruffled her hair. “I want you to come too,” the girl whimpered, her green eyes huge in her head. “Please, Othello! You’ve got to come back--” _

__ _ “I can’t.” He kissed her forehead. “You know I can’t.”  _

__ _ Someone shouted behind them. Othello glanced up. “Go,” he said to her, and then louder, “GO!” _

__ Grelle snapped back to the current moment, her lips parted as a quiet sob escaped her throat. Sebastian hadn’t noticed; he was still walking steadily on. However, up the shore, Ronald cast a glance her way. She was heaving, trying to catch her breath, gills twitching as she gasped through her mouth. A fish out of water--

\--or was she a human drowning?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head. That memory--she knew this man. Othello. Ronald had said his name. He was a witch, yet...It seemed that she remembered him as her brother, her own flesh and blood. So, once she could think again, she swam quickly after Sebastian. 

Finally, the trio found themselves outside of the small, cozy looking home. It was beautiful; Grelle instantly fell in love with the house. Part of it lay over the water, seemingly built upon some kind of stilts to keep it from flooding. The other half lay in the sand, though it was held up by a platform of rough cut stones. The walls of the house looked to be made of driftwood and dried seaweed, cured somehow to withstand the elements without rotting. Small starfish clung to the sides, some of them making their way downward, back to the water. Here and there, a shell would be pinned to the side of the house. 

“Stay here,” Sebastian ordered. He gave Grelle a slight, gentle smile. “I must speak with him first; I will bring him out to you, for your comfort.” 

Before she could protest, the High Prince had disappeared into the tiny home. Ronald stayed outside, perched on a rock that jutted up out of the sands. He waved at her, offering her a smile. She motioned to him, beckoning him to the water’s edge. 

After a few moments of hemming and hawing, Ronald finally joined the mermaid. He stayed far from the water--at least, as far as she would let him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, squatting down so he was at her level. “You had a moment earlier?”

“I...I remembered something,” Grelle admitted. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, listening as it made a wet slap against her skin and scales. “You called this witch Othello, didn’t you?” 

“Aye, I did.” 

“What do you know about him?” 

“Huh? Oh. Uh.” Ronald peered at the driftwood door of the house, frowning. “I don’t know…”

“I think he is my brother.” 

“W-what?” 

Grelle bared her teeth in anger, in frustration. “I...I was not born this way. I was a human, raised by the Queen below. She bargained for my life, and I was turned into this. Into the mermaid you see before you. Now, I know I am beautiful, but I--I was human, once. The memory that sprang to the surface had a boy named Othello in it--pale, with black hair that shimmered a deep green in the sunlight. He smelled of...of black licorice. I smell that now, too, and it...it brought the memory forth.” 

Ronald rocked back on his heels. He put one hand over his face, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Don’t tell me that you’re his sibling. Don’t.” 

“Why?” Grelle drew herself up on the shore a bit more, the sand rubbing roughly against her belly and chest. Still, she needed to be closer to the man. She needed to press the answers from him, the truth. 

The guard sucked on his teeth. “Witches are about bargains. Well...Princes can be that way, too. Okay, so. Thirteen years ago…” Ronald lowered his voice, just enough so anyone with human ears could not hear him properly, “Sebastian’s father, the High Prince before him, had welcomed a royal family from an island nation into this kingdom. They were meant to visit, to discuss legal mumbo-jumbo and tariffs; that kind of thing. Boring. But--the royals brought their two kids with them. Othello was one of them, and the other was a redhead...you, I guess.” He screwed up his face. “Your name is Grelle now, but back then, it...it wasn’t.”

“We chose our own names, below the waves,” Grelle mumbled.

The Sluagh nodded once before continuing, his eyes still watching the door. “Sebastian’s father...well. He wasn’t a good person. I hated serving him, but I’m tied to this kingdom so I didn’t have a choice. He plotted to have the family killed, kids included, so that he could take over the island nation and rule it for himself. He wanted their lands, their economy, their resources.” Ronald’s eyes were glowing when he turned back to Grelle. “Othello survived, but your parents were killed, just as planned. ‘Ello made a bargain with the former High Prince--he would be the man’s personal witch if the Prince allowed him to live--and did not try to follow after the ship you were on.” 

“...the ship sank,” Grelle said quietly. “It was struck by lightning. Yes...I remember that now. It struck the mast, and the upper deck. There were sparks. Something caught fire…” She shook her head hard, forcing the memories back. “My mother--er...the Queen saved me, took me in.” 

Just then, the door opened, Sebastian moving smoothly out of the darkness of the small house. He looked pleased. Following behind him sluggishly was a shorter man, with pale skin and hair so black it looked green, like seaweed. He was yawning, rubbing the back of his neck as though he had been rudely woken up. 

“Miss Grelle,” Sebastian purred. “This is Othello, the Witch of the Sands.” 

Othello, sighed, pulling on a pair of round pince-nez. Once he could properly see, he looked toward the water, and instantly froze. His green eyes, exactly the same shade as Grelle’s, widened as his mouth opened. He sank against the side of the doorframe, staring. 

“Is everything well?” Sebastian asked, noting the look the witch cast upon the mermaid. “She is a rather lovely creature, isn’t she?” 

The witch uttered a name, then shook his head. He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Forgive me. You reminded me of someone from...well. I guess that doesn’t matter.” He stomped onto the sand, his feet covered by socks and wooden sandals. His long, white coat fluttered slightly in the salty breeze. “Hello, mermaid.”

Grelle swallowed. “Hello, witch.”

They looked at each other, memories passing between them. Othello knelt down, his knees in the surf, and he took her chin into his hand. He turned her face this way and that before releasing her. “You look like mother,” he whispered. “You’ve got father’s hair still, I see.” 

She sucked in a breath, grinning at him with her sharp teeth. All of her childhood had returned, and she had to fight back tears. “You look like father,” she whispered back to him. “And you still have hair like seaweed.” They both chuckled, then embraced, Othello quietly sobbing into his long lost sister’s shoulder. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. 

“I think I was, in a way.” 

“Ah, look at you, though! You’re gorgeous! Your tail...wow.” Othello pulled back with a stupid smile on his face. He looked her over, laughing happily. “I take it you want to get this sorted?” 

Grelle hummed. “I’ve been invited to the castle, to help Prince Ciel.” She watched Othello’s face as he nodded. She leaned in, speaking to him and only him, “I have done something terrible. I have nowhere else to go.” 

“We can talk more, later,” her brother whispered back. “Just be cautious.” 

“I will.” 

The two parted, both keenly aware of Sebastian’s gaze upon them. He was forcing a tight-lipped smile, but there was something else there; something deeper, darker. 

A longing. 


	10. Brotherly Love

Othello brought out a couple of roughly sewn bags, setting them on the edge of the pier half of his house sat upon. Grelle pawed through them, comfortably able to sit at the end of the little wooden dock with some of her tail still in the chilly ocean below. She hummed to herself, looking at all of the ingredients her long lost brother was bringing out. Seaweed, shells, pearls--but odd things she did not really understand. 

When he returned from grabbing more things from inside, she held up something with a frown. 

“Oh,” Othello chuckled. “It’s a piece of a sickle. They’re used for harvesting crops. I need the metal for some of my potions, so I chip it off of that.” He shrugged slightly, adjusting his glasses. 

Behind him, Sebastian and Ronald sat quietly, watching, from two stone stools. The High Prince had his hands folded, almost delicately, in his lap as his fiery eyes watched every move the siblings made. Though he was smiling, there was something so chillingly hungry in his eyes. 

Quietly, so that no one else could hear, Ronald leaned in and spoke to his liege. “I know that look. You are thinking. Your father wore the same glance, right before declaring war on a neighboring kingdom. Is that what you are thinking?” 

“The promise was that our Othello would serve as this kingdom’s witch, until the end of his days, as long as his beloved sister was not harmed,” Sebastian whispered back. “That promise was made to my father--who is no longer the High Prince.”

“Does that nullify the bargain, then?” Ronald asked, his eyes gleaming slightly with mirth. “I think I know where you’re going with this, sir.” 

Sebastian smiled, just so, and turned his garnet-like gaze upon the Sluagh. “Indeed. Indeed, you do. Immortality can be earned. And a mermaid is just what I need to earn it.” He chuckled lightly, lowering his gaze. “There is a legend.” 

“I know it,” Ronald sighed. He leaned back on his seat, rubbing his eyes. “You would lose your humanity, sir.” 

“You say that as though it is a bad thing.” 

“...if you really wished to do that, you could have used Prince Ciel--”

At that, Sebastian glared at his guard. “He is my  _ son _ ,” he hissed, darkness flooding his expression. His eyes were hell fire or worse; he looked, every bit, like a demon risen from the underworld. “I would never harm him so.” 

“My apologies,” Ronald said, and quickly, smoothing out his gloves. “Do you think it will work with someone who wasn’t born a merfolk?” 

Calmer now, Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. “Time will tell,” he purred, gentler now. “Time will tell.” 

At that moment, Othello grinned. “There! I think I have everything ready.”

Grelle wrinkled up her nose. “I have to eat all of this?”   
“What--no! No. I have to brew a potion, using most of it. Some of it just needs to sit in the brew. It’s a complicated process.” He sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. “Now--I have to warn you. My magic works with bargains. It’s just the nature of what I am.”

“Hmm, I do believe I remember that.” The mermaid sighed, laying on the dock now, her tail in the air behind her, whipping around. She tucked a few strands of damp hair behind her finned ear. A few of the ingredients sat before her; she started to play with a few pieces of broken clam shell and a shark’s tooth. “Back then, I asked you to fix something for me. A doll, I believe. You told me I had to bargain to do chores for a week--a  _ week. _ Rather rude of you, love.” She fluttered her eyelashes up at Othello, her teeth on display as she grinned. The shark’s tooth in her hand looked dull in comparison. 

“You were stupid back then,” Othello mumbled. He sat in front of her, gathering up a few of the ingredients into a large cauldron filled with sea water and a few drops of his own blood. “I can’t speak for now, though.”

“Oh, I’m rather stupid, believe me,” she huffed quietly. “Just a stupid little mermaid.”

“Mmm,” Othello hummed. He snatched the tooth from his sister, crushing it up between two small chunks of pink diamond. Into the pot all of them went. “I think we were both a bit dumb.” He uttered a name, shaking his head. 

Grelle perked up. “That--that was my name.” 

Blinking at her from behind his pince-nez, Othello nodded. “You’ve changed it?” 

“I couldn’t remember it, before. It’s dead to me now.” She huffed, grabbing some old lace to work through her fingers. “Until I smelled your stupid candy, I didn’t even remember  _ you. _ ” She tied the weather worn lace to her wrist and looked at it, thinking it made her slender arms look fancy. “Mother--er--Angelina named me Grelle.” 

“...I see.” Othello motioned for the lace. “Just a piece. You can keep the rest.” 

“Thank you, love.” 

“Mmm.” 

As the potion brewed, Othello stirred it as needed. He was chanting something, quietly, over the bubbling pool of pink and gold liquid. Grelle looked inside the cauldron a few times, then wrinkled up her nose and pulled herself away. It would take an hour, he told her, and told the High Prince; this was not a potion he generally had to make. 

“What is the bargain, then?” Grelle asked after taking a dip off of the pier. She was pulling herself up onto the dry wood once more. 

“Okay, but--just remember, I don’t really make the rules. It comes to me--what the bargain has to be, unless you have something to offer.” Othello’s neon green eyes, highlighted by the burning flame below the pot, flicked to Grelle. “If the bargain is broken, the spell breaks, too. There are stipulations to be followed, things you have to do to keep your human form...and your life.” 

Grelle paused, staring at him with huge eyes. “Ex-cuse me?” she snapped. “This is going to  _ kill _ me?”

“Calm down, Grelle,” he said, purring the r in her name like a cat would. “As long as everything goes well, you’ll be fine. Look, I’m even going against my better judgement and making it be built into the potion that you can change back into a mermaid when the moon is in the sky. So--most nights. If it’s cloudy, or it’s a new moon, though, the magic in the potion--which will be in your blood--won’t work. Got it?” 

She frowned sharply. “Alright, alright. Lay out the terms then.” 

The potion smelled sickly sweet and sour, a cross between pure sugar water and the most unripe lemon imaginable. It was thick as Othello ladled it into a wooden cup. To this, he added a few crushed leaves of mint. That made it smell a little better, and Grelle assumed it was for taste, too. Her brother handed it off to her, the brew inside hot enough to warm the wooden goblet. 

Othello took a breath through his nose, eyes closed. “Upon drinking this potion, you will become human once more--with the ability to transform, at will while bathing in the light of the moon, into a mermaid. The potion’s strength is enough for two months, and not a moment longer; to make this magic permanent, you must be kissed by a royal. This kiss must be full of love and nothing else; anything other than true love won’t work.” 

Grelle looked down into the drink. “What happens after two months?” 

“...You will return to the sea in the form of foam.”

She shivered, looking from the cup to her brother to Sebastian. Her eyes softened, just slightly. “A kiss from a royal, hm? Sounds fun,” she purred. Then she downed the drink, swallowing every drop in one gulp. 

It burned like ice all of the way down, settling into the pit of her stomach like a stone. When she gasped, she realized she was not getting air correctly. Her gills shivered and ached, as though they were being pulled into her body. She dropped the cup, gasping, holding her sides and throat. 

“Easy, easy…” Othello whispered, holding her as her body convulsed and shook, changing. He wrapped his arms around her, holding his little sister as he could not for the last thirteen years. He breathed her name, gentle ‘I love you’s, as she screamed. 

Sebastian was up and beside them in a moment, helping to hold Grelle down as well. She was thrashing so hard that it looked like she would accidentally throw the smaller Othello into the sea. “Is she--”

“She will be fine,” Othello sighed, forcing a smile. “She’s just stronger than I remember her being.” He winced when she cried out, crying and screaming and scratching. He watched her tail split, the long, elegant thing becoming something horrible and twisted until her legs could form. 

When she pushed against Sebastian, he almost lost his balance. “Oh, my, you are right,” he said with a touch of surprise. Righting himself, he pinned her down until she shivered, gasping and crying. “There,” he whispered to her, stroking the length of her hair. “There you are, my lady.” His eyes moved down her body, taking her in. He chuckled. “You couldn’t help but add--”

“She has always been female,” Othello snapped, just as any loving elder brother would. “She deserves to have a body to match, whether that be mer or human.” Then he grinned. “If you keep looking at her like that, I’m going to have to learn how to fight.” There was fire in his words, not anger, but a sort of pride. 

“You would fight the High Prince?” 

“For her? Yeah. I would probably kill you and wear your skin as a suit.” Othello looked fiercely at the other man. “Though I’m pretty sure she could take you herself.” 

Sebastian smiled wryly, his eyes shining like garnets. “Indeed,” he chuckled bitterly. “Your family are formidable foes.” He stood then, wiping his hands on his pants. “Shall I leave her in your care for the evening?” 

Rolling his shoulders, Othello pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around Grelle. She whimpered, just enough to make a sound, but otherwise did not stir. “You promised her a room in your stupid castle, right? Ciel would be happy to have someone new to pester. Maybe someday you’ll let him off of that leash you have him on.” He glared at Sebastian, lightning in his eyes and quiet thunder in his words. “Gilded or not, he lives in a cage, for you. That was your intent, though, wasn’t it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The High Prince scooped up Grelle’s human form into his arms. “I love my son as you, surely, love your sister.” The two men glared at each other, words and emotions swirling up around them, ash and flame and lightning storms long held back. 

“Should a hair on her head be harmed,” Othello hissed, “I will bring ruin the likes of which you’ve never known.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

“I’m a witch,” Othello laughed, dark and death and everything nasty twisted up in the sound. “I don’t make threats. I deal in promises, remember?” 

The High Prince bowed his head. “I do,” he whispered. “I do.” 


	11. The East Wing

Ciel rubbed his good eye, the other still hidden by his ever present patch. One of the many maids of the castle had brought him a deliciously brewed cup of tea; the moment her back was turned, he added an extra cube of sugar to it. While his adopted father preferred a more bitter brew, the younger Prince was still a boy. He preferred something sweeter. 

He was reaching for a second sugar cube when the door to his bedroom swung open. Quickly, he pulled his hand back, empty, and glared at whomever had decided to disrupt him. Ah, of course. Sebastian. Ciel intensified his glowering appearance. “I see you have returned.” 

“Yes. I have,” Sebastian purred, sweeping into the room with an impossible elegance. Once, Ciel had overheard the maids saying that the High Prince had taken dancing lessons from one of the best performers in the kingdom; when the man moved, Ciel could believe it. He was graceful but dangerous; it should be said that the best dancer in the kingdom had once been hailed as the best assassin as well. “I do hope you are not ruining your teeth with too much of that sweet, disgusting sugar.” 

“Of course not,” Ciel sniffed. He returned to his tea, sucking down the delicious brew. “What took you so long?” 

“Ah. Are you feeling well enough to accompany me?” 

Ciel cocked an eyebrow. “Where?” He drank his tea a little more swiftly, afraid of losing it on whatever stupid adventure his adopted father had planned. The little cocoon of warm blankets beckoned him to stay--but he knew the hidden wrath his father could give into. His shoulders shook, just so, as he remembered. 

Sebastian would never strike him. 

Some injuries were not visible. 

“Not far,” Sebastian hinted. He sat beside Ciel, pouring himself a cup of tea. Without sugar or cream, he sipped at it. Then he frowned, pulling the cup away from his lips. “This will not do…” 

“I like the mix,” Ciel mumbled. 

“No, it doesn’t have the right notes.” The High Prince set his cup down on a saucer, ignoring it now. “At any rate, you will accompany me to the East Wing. We have a guest.” 

“The East Wing?” the boy sipped his drink, holding the cup in front of his lips. It was hot and burned a bit, but it would keep Sebastian from seeing the slight frown his mouth wore. “You have not allowed anyone in there since your father died.” 

A twitch, just so, at the corner of the man’s upper lip. “Times have changed. I cannot be tied to the past so heavily. Not any longer. There is a future for us.” He glanced at Ciel with a forced, tight-lipped smile. “You and I will be something greater than any before us.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

“You still wish to take revenge on those who took your family from you, don’t you, young Prince?” Sebastian lowered his head, looking directly into the boy’s lone working eye. “What if I told you the ability to do so is within our grasp?” 

Ciel turned away. There was fire in the garnet eyes of his adoptive father. Hell flames, angry, burning. Greed. Desire. Things that the boy wanted to hold for himself. Power. Yes. He and Sebastian were a mirror of sorts; one of them was able to take what he wished, while the other wished he could take what he wanted. 

Sebastian smiled, lips parted just enough to make him look animalistic--demonic. “Come with me, young prince. Come with me, and I will tell you my plan.” 

With a deep sigh, Ciel put his cup down. “Very well,” he mumbled. He stood up, shedding the warmth of the woolen blankets. “To the East Wing.” 

The two walked the halls of the castle, Sebastian slowly so that Ciel’s shorter legs could keep up with his much longer ones. Servants who saw them instantly fell into deep bows, some almost touching the ground with their noses. Sebastian ignored all of them, and watched Ciel do much the same. They were royalty, after all; they were better than those who served them. 

A tight-lipped smile, and Sebastian motioned to a staircase that led up to the East Wing. “Please, watch your step. I am afraid that some of the stairs are in a bit of disrepair. I have someone coming in a few hours to tend to them.” He offered Ciel his hand, to aid him in climbing the unruly steps, but the young Prince pushed his hand to the side. “Very well.” 

One step at a time, slowly so as to not fall through, Ciel finally managed the top landing. He looked around, holding his sleeve to his nose. It was a bit more dusty than he thought it would be; it really did look like Sebastian had shut this area of the castle down to the world since the former High Prince had passed away in his sleep. 

In the faded light that pooled in through the high, arched windows, the boy was able to make out some footsteps in the dust. Ah. Someone had already been here, then; he assumed Sebastian, considering the style of the shoe prints. They led up to the second door down the hallway; the quarters that had once belonged to Sebastian’s mother. 

With the sleeve still over his nose, Ciel meandered to the door in question. The knob was cold to the touch, and a bit rusted, but it still turned. He stepped into the room, Sebastian at his back. The room was brighter than he had thought it would be; the windows here took up most of the far wall, and none of them were covered with curtains. There was a massive canopy bed in the center of the chamber, with deep red, silken fabrics hanging from the four posts. If he listened, just so, he could make out the sound of someone breathing. Sleeping.

Questions unasked in his eye, he looked at Sebastian. The man in black only smiled, ushering the prince deeper into the room. He pulled back the curtains around the bed.

The mermaid slept, peacefully, all curled up on her side with the thick blankets nestled around her. She wore a soft looking nightgown, and someone had tied back her long hair. She looked peaceful. Ciel watched her, eye wide. She had legs! 

He rounded on Sebastian. “You made her become human?” 

“It was her decision to make.” 

The boy huffed. “Who would rather be human? We are weak creatures.” 

Sebastian hummed. He brushed by the boy, leaning down to brush a few loose strands of hair from Grelle’s pale face. Instead of scales, she had freckles now. She looked softer, more gentle. Mortal. 

“You’ve ruined her,” Ciel whispered. He watched her, as she slept, her lips parted into a pout. A wave of anger, more fiery than the woman’s hair, crashed over him. “You took it from her--”

“It was her choice, young Prince. She decided to become human--for you.” 

That brought Ciel up short. “For me?” 

“She wants to make sure you are cared for.” Sebastian chuckled as he straightened up. “Apparently, she does not trust me to do so.” 

“Who would,” Ciel snorted. He shook his head, putting his emotions back into check. “Very well. I take it she will be dining with us tonight for the evening meal?” 

“If she so decides.” 

“...you took her to the Witch of the Sands.” 

“I did.” Sebastian smiled wickedly--as he did when he was keeping something from his adopted son. It drove Ciel crazy, and the High Prince seemed to know it. “He gave her a potion.” 

“That man deals in promises and bargains. What did she barter?” 

“That is for her to say,” Sebastian mumbled. He pulled a blanket up around the woman’s shoulders, chuckling lightly. “I am not sure she truly understood what she might be giving up, for those legs.” He turned his attention to Ciel. “For you.” 

The boy sucked in a breath, anger running over him again. “She did not need to do anything for me. She had already saved my pathetic life. I suppose that is enough.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched out of the door. 

Sebastian watched him go, his eyes burning as the sunlight reflected fire in them. He smiled, teeth showing. 

The pieces were falling into place. 


	12. Debriefing in a Living House

The storm came on quickly, the dark grey clouds consuming every inch of the once-blue sky. Thunder rolled and snarled, the lightning snapping across the sky. With each flash, each rumble, the ground shook as though afraid of everything above. The sea crashed against the shore, throwing salty water against the walls of the capitol city beyond the sands. 

Othello sipped a cup of strong coffee, watching the storm roll in. His little home was built in a way that allowed him to rise up above the surf and sand whenever he needed to, just by feeding it. He peeked over the edge, watching his house balance on the legs of a massive bird. He chuckled, shaking his head. 

Though he was soaked to the bone, he did not care. What he cared about was the pieces of the potion and spell he had not been able to give to his sister. Grelle had always been headstrong, jumping into danger without thinking about the consequences. She thought with her heart first. In a way, it warmed him to know that, though she had led a different life since he had last hugged her, there was still enough of her left. The sister he had known when they were younger, when they were free.

Before Sebastian’s father murdered their family. Before Othello chained himself to Sand by the Sea’s royal family in order to keep Grelle safe. Before Grelle drank the potion he had brewed.

The witch squeezed his eyes shut, sighing into his cup. Things were done. He could not reverse time, as much as he would like to. He, like all mortals, could only press forward. No amount of magic could change that. 

None that he could control, at any rate. 

Another sigh escaped his lips. He dumped out the rest of his drink over the side of the wooden pier his house rested upon, then slunk inside. It was cozy there, with the living house chirping and squawking happily when it realized he had returned. Forcing a smile, he gently stroked the top of the fireplace, both of the beady, bird-like eyes on either side of it shining brightly. “You’re going great,” he mumbled, and fed the house another log. The fire that was its stomach burned happily, turning a deeper red as it crackled. “Thank you for keeping us both safe.” 

The fireplace clucked, the flame nestled inside glowing hotter. Othello smiled, genuinely. 

Something hit the window to his left, the one by the door. With a frown now, the witch moved to the rain-soaked glass to see who was throwing things at his poor home. As though reading his thoughts, the door opened, just so. Othello raised an eyebrow as he peered outside. Then he grinned. He leapt to the door, calling out for his house to lower itself down enough for company. 

With a great flourish, the house leaned down, door swinging open broadly now. Othello rubbed his nose, motioning. “Come on in, Ron. I had hoped you’d show up, after yesterday.” 

“Aye,” the Sluagh laughed as he pulled himself up into the living home. He wiped his gloves free of the rain and slick slime from the seaweed siding before returning Othello’s Cheshire Cat’s grin. The two men embraced, Ronald resting his chin on top of Othello’s still damp hair. “Came to visit and to give you some news.” 

“Come in, please. Come in. I’ll make you some tea.” 

“Ahhhh...no, thanks, ‘Ello. Have you got some coffee?”

The house rumbled a bit as it rose back up, keeping everyone inside dry from the terrible storm still rumbling along outside. The black eyes around the hearth flicked back and forth between Othello and Ronald, the fire clucking pleasantly. 

“Oh, yeah. Hi there, House,” Ron offered, petting the wall by the door. “I see you’re doing well to keep your master safe.” House clucked back with pride. If such a creature could puff out its chest, it would have. Instead, the curtains billowed inward slightly. Then, to Othello, “Have you figured out the sex yet?” 

“I believe she’s female,” Othello mumbled as he ground up some freshly roasted coffee beans. “House has been laying dud eggs as of late; I think she’s finally an adult. Her wings should come in soon.” 

“Nice.” Ronald made himself comfortable, removing his boots and gloves before plopping himself down in a cushy chair by one of the windows. “Good job, again, House. Good girl.” Again, the curtains shivered, almost happily. “Don’t let Sebastian know. He’d use her as a breeding machine to make mobile units.” 

Sighing, the witch nodded. “I was afraid of that. Has he said anything?” 

“He says lots of things. Only some are important.”

“Oh?”

Ronald hummed, picking up one of Othello’s discarded books. It looked to be a manual on herb drying, all bound up in cracked leather with brittle, yellowed pages. He put it on one of the many tables nearby before settling back with a huff. “You know of the legend about mermaids and immortality, right?” 

Pausing in his grinding, Othello looked up. “I do,” he replied, brows furrowing as his face grew dark. “The heart of a mermaid is supposed to imbue a mortal with everlasting life and youth. I doubt it is true. However--the timing of you posing such a question worries me to no end.” 

“It should,” the royal guard mumbled. “Seems that our High Prince wants to carve up your sister and eat her heart--and force Prince Ciel to do the same.” He clicked his tongue. “He has to figure out a way to make sure your protection bargain over her is null, though.” 

“It isn’t. I swore an oath to not only the former High Prince, but to every royal within that bloodline. As long as my sister is safe, I am to be their witch.” Returning to the coffee, Othello put a pot over the hearth. “Warm that up, please, house. Nice and hot. You know how Ronald likes it.” 

The house clucked, her fire burning all the brighter. 

“That’s good to know.” Ronald looked at Othello. “Seems we’re both stuck--and your sister with us. She needs a kiss to stay alive.” 

“It wasn’t my first choice, honestly, but it was the best I could do. Spells like that are finicky. Tit-for-tat and all of that.”

“And the bargain? I don’t know if I understand it all.”

Othello chuckled darkly, pulling a bottle of cream from his icebox. “How much of this is going to make its way back to Sebastian’s ears, I wonder?” 

“Just lay it out to me--for her sake. And for yours.” There was sadness in Ronald’s bright green eyes, and a frown upon his face. He and Othello were both bound to a family they did not wish to be. Magically chained, until the bloodline died off, until the kingdom was overtaken by another power. 

Sighing deeply, Othello stroked the side of House’s wall. “Very well. But I’m not making you coffee again if you keep playing both sides. You have to pick one. Either me, or Sebastian. And you know damned well that only one of us loves you.” 

“I have no choice, ‘Ello. You know that. I know that. Please. I feel horrible asking--but I have to.” 

Othello clicked his teeth together. “Grelle bargained to be human, save for when she is able to bathe in the light of the moon. For this, to keep that ability and form, she must receive a kiss of love from someone of royal blood. That kiss must be from someone who loves her, deeply and truly. Someone who realizes that they need her more than air.” He removed his pince-nez, wiping them off on the bottom of his shirt. The light reflected from the glass of them as he placed them back on his nose. His eyes were obscured, invisible, behind the light from the fire. “As payment...Well.” 

He looked to the Sluagh, to the other prisoner in this little game, to the man he loved truly but could not trust. With a deep breath, he said, finally, “As payment, Grelle must love that person in return--I have to see her happiness.” His shoulders slumped. “That was the payment. That is what the spell asked of me, of us.” 

“She must be loved and must love that person in return,” Ronald summed up, voice tight in his throat. “She’s fucked, Othello. No one here of royal blood is going to fall in love with her in two month’s time.” 

When the witch looked up, the light gone from his glasses, tears rolled down his face. “I know,” he said. “I know.” 


	13. The Flame and the Moth

Three days had passed since Grelle had given up the sea for the land. During that time, she was ill, unable to leave the bed she had been graciously given. There were noises outside of the room, though she was not sure what they were. All that she knew was the pain in her head, chest, and lower body. Though she tried desperately to eat the delicious foods one of Sebastian’s servants brought her, she found herself vomiting every time something passed her lips. 

It was not until the fourth day that a knock came upon her door. She was sitting up in bed for the first time since she awoke, human, trying to nibble on what the maid had called ‘toast.’ It was bland at best, but considering she was able to keep it down? She was not going to complain. 

“Come in,” she offered as she pulled back the curtains around the bed to see who had come. 

The door opened a crack. “Are you decent?” Ciel’s voice questioned, his fingers wrapped around the wood of the door to keep the heavy thing open. 

Grelle found herself smiling. “As much as I can be, love. Please, come in.” She set down the half-eaten toast on the little tray she had been given, and smoothed out the blankets covering everything below her stomach. The silky nightgown she had on was more than enough to cover her upper half. Her grin grew as she gently reminded herself to thank Othello for the added gifts. 

The scent of honey and cinnamon filled the air as Ciel entered the room properly. He wore no frown or smile; he simply looked blank. Grelle noted that he looked a bit paler than he had when she first rescued him from the icy ocean’s waters. Was the poor thing sick as well? She beckoned him forward, shifting herself over so he could sit with her on the plush bed. 

“How are you, dear?” Grelle asked once the boy had tucked himself up beside her. He sighed, shaking his head. Waves of sadness rolled off of him, hints of frustration. It pulled her to him. She could soak in it, his hidden emotions; they felt so much like her own. “Tell me, hm?” 

Ciel huffed. He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “There is nothing to say. I wanted only to see if you are feeling well enough to walk with me in the gardens.” A lie. Grelle could hear it in his tone, even if he could not. 

Letting a soft hum, she shrugged, returning to her toast. She let him stew in silence for a few minutes, noting the slight shiver in his shoulders. Even then, she let the time draw out a bit more. She could have tried to pull out his ill feelings; she could have badgered him, poked and prodded until he cracked. However--however. Allowing his own emotion to swirl up inside of him, building until it felt like it would burst out--it would allow him to speak at his own time, at his own rate. 

She was not going to force him to expose his emotions, just because he was a child and she was an adult. That was something that the Red Queen had done to her during her childhood and teenage years. The thought of Angelina shouting at her, pulling her fins, pinning her to the coral floors until Grelle was forced to cry out her raw emotions, spilling them out with sobs--well. It was enough for the woman to nearly choke on her toast. 

Maybe she should have broken that slender neck earlier…

Snapping her out of her dark thoughts, Ciel put his head against her shoulder. He sighed. “You remind me of something. Not a person--just...something.” He huffed. With a flick of his hand, he pushed some of his hair out of his good eye. “Sebastian has been...He has been more firm as of late. He acts as though I am glass, ready to break at any second should I even so much as look outside of the castle. I hate it.”

He paused. There was a gentle clatter of bone china before a saucer and cup were thrust into his sight. Blinking, he looked up at Grelle. 

“Humans seem to like this stuff,” she mumbled. “I put honey in it, which is apparently supposed to make it good. I can’t stand it, honestly.” 

Ciel chuckled, surprise on his face. “Tea? You haven’t gained a taste for tea?” Still, he took the cup and saucer she offered. Sipping it, he nodded. “You added just the right amount.” 

“Good.” Once her hand was free, Grelle wrapped her arm around Ciel’s slim shoulders. He froze, body going rigid against her. She waited for him to relax before speaking again. “The world above is...different.”

“Oh?” 

“It’s dreary. There are fewer colors than I thought there would be.” Grelle rolled her eyes. “And blurry! Everything has an odd...haze. Like when someone flicks sand into your face.” 

This made Ciel frown. He set the tea on the side table, then knelt beside the woman. He looked into her eyes, then pulled back a bit. Watching, he noted when her eyes became unfocused before nodding sagely. “I see. You need glasses.”

“...glasses?” 

“Yes.” 

“I...I don’t know what those are.” 

Ciel shook his head. “It’s fine. I will have the doctor look at you, later. Right now...are you able to get dressed by yourself?” He motioned to the wardrobe in the corner. “If not, I can call for a servant. I want you to go for a walk with me.” 

Chuckling, the once-mermaid offered the boy a smirk. “Oh? Is that how you ask a L-A-D-Y? You need a lesson in manners, I think.” When that brought up a blush against the paleness of Ciel’s cheeks, she laughed outright. She drew her blankets up, covering her mouth with them. 

“I am glad to see you find this so comical!” Ciel marched closer to the bed once more. Why was her laugh contagious? He had a feeling he should hate her, that he shouldn’t trust her--but those were words that Sebastian had forced into him, weren’t they? His adoptive father had been so strange since the woman arrived. The collar around Ciel’s throat was suddenly tighter, the leash, shorter. 

This flame from the sea was a breath of fresh air the prince did not know he had needed so fiercely. All of this time, he had been freezing to death, under the spell of foolishly thinking he was warm. Now, she was all heat and laughter; she was so suddenly life in his eyes that it burned. He crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself together as his mind raced back to his former family. She was almost like his mother, but more wild, more  _ alive _ and  _ free. _

Ciel’s shell was breaking, piece by piece, each of the crumbled specks shattering upon her flame. 

_ “He will take her away from you, just like he took me,”  _ that damnable little voice in the back of his head whispered, hissed, all claws and teeth and blood. Death. It drew him back from the warmth of Grelle’s laughter, away from the life her presence offered. 

He squeezed his good eye shut. “Shut up,” he snapped aloud.

Her laughter stopped. Grelle watched him then, her eyes cooled. She tipped her head to one side. “Oh?” she asked. 

“N-not you,” Ciel huffed. He snapped back to himself, forced to look into her neon green eyes. “I...I was…”

“It’s fine,” Grelle purred. She shrugged, just one shoulder. “Go on. Shoo. I’ll figure out how to work human clothing. I think I remember parts of it.” Without waiting for him, she started to push herself out of the bed. 

Her feet touched the floor. She bit her lip, testing her weight on them--

\--and promptly fell flat on her behind. She let loose a mouthful of expletives that Ciel had never heard before (he was pretty sure some of them were not really able to be made with a human mouth). Heaving, she glared at her legs and feet. “Useless things!” 

“They aren’t useless, you just don’t know how to walk,” Ciel realized. He moved to her side. “Let me help you.” 

“Hmph. I was human once, you know! Well. I think I was. I’m pretty sure I was. I remember it, but it seems like a dream…” Grelle pressed her palms into her eyes. She made a few more noises before calming down. Ciel’s gentle, soft hand on her shoulder helped. The moment she realized that, she let him guide her to her feet. With her other hand using her bed to balance herself, Ciel taught her how to take one step, then another.

Soon enough, they were standing before the wardrobe. “Mm. I was meant to be here to help you, yet you’ve helped me.” 

“Think nothing of it,” Ciel mumbled. He let her go for a moment to open up the wardrobe’s doors, revealing numerous dresses, shirts, skirts...anything a woman of the day would be comfortable in. Some of them were a bit dated when compared to the current fashions, he noted internally, but they would do until she could be fitted for her own clothing. 

“There are so many!” Grelle gasped. She inched forward as best she could without Ciel’s help, wanting to bury herself in the soft looking fabrics. “Is this where humans hide their colors?” 

“Sometimes.” Ciel pulled out a few dresses. “Ah. Here we are.” He found one that had a slit up the side, allowing a bit more freedom of movement. For someone who would be learning to walk, it would be rude and a bit evil to make her tangle herself up in layers and lengths of skirts and petticoats. It was a light, cotton thing, with little pink pearls sewn along the neckline and the sheer sleeves. The bodice was black, but everything below the waist was a deep, rich red. “I assume you’d like this.” 

“Oh!” Grelle cried. She was grinning from ear to ear. Ciel noticed with a sigh that her teeth were still impossibly sharp, dagger-like things. “Oh, Ciel, it’s lovely!” He handed it to her, and she felt it all over, from the pearls to the stitches to the buttons on the back. Eyes soft, she looked at him. “Thank you.” 

“It would dim such a beautiful flame for you to wear anything less,” he said smoothly, kissing her knuckles. Then he froze, realizing how much he sounded like Sebastian. He felt like he was going to be sick. He pulled back from her, shaking slightly. 

She made him weak. 

Grelle dropped the dress, grabbing Ciel by the shoulders when he started to way. He slapped her hand away, glaring up at her through his one good eye. Anger. Anger. Anger. So much anger, yet--yet. She could feel all of that drowning sadness as it swallowed him up, drank him down. It boiled and bubbled, seeping through his cracks until it would break him completely. 

She still did not push. No. She would not push him, force him. They had both had far too much of that. 

Finally, he relaxed. Ciel shook himself out. “My apologies,” he mumbled. 

“You’re fine, love.” She bent down, managing her balance enough to retrieve the dress. “I’ll try to get into this, hm? Then you can show me what flowers look like up here.” 

“Very well. And you will have dinner with us this evening.” Ciel looked away. “If you would like.” 

Smiling, the red head nodded. “I would like that very much, thank you, Ciel.” 

He paused. “Please...don’t call me that.” 

“Oh?” She tilted her head to one side, her long, flame red hair spilling over his shoulders. He watched her, her warmth there for him again. He could trust her, couldn’t he? 

Couldn’t he?

“N...never mind. It’s nothing. Thank you for your time, Lady Grelle. Please. Take your time in dressing, and let me know if I should call for one of the maids to help you.” Ciel offered her a slight bow before brushing past her, out of the room and into the corridor beyond. Once the door was shut, he leaned against it. 

Sucking in air, he felt like he was drowning. He pushed his knuckles into his good eye, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying to think. When he pulled back, he noted with a jerk that the palm of his hands had soft, glimmer, pale blue scales upon them. 

He blinked, and they were gone. 


	14. Rose Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My apologies for taking my time on the last few chapters. My life is in shambles right now. Things are getting better, promise, but I am finding it difficult to concentrate on anything for too long. The next few chapters might not come out as quickly as they usually do; for that, I apologize. 
> 
> For those that do not know, I suffer from PTSD. About six years ago, my spouse and I adopted a beautiful, Maine Coon cat that we named Jasper (after Jasper of Steven Universe fame). She was supposed to be a cat to help me when I had an episode; she was large, soft, and warm, which were things that helped to ground me when my flashbacks or panic attacks took me over. Instead of just being a service animal, Jasper grew into my daughter.
> 
> Around the middle of February, my spouse and I noticed that Jasper was not eating or drinking as much as she usually did. She had no energy--which was really worrying, as she was always bouncing off of the walls--and wasn't even purring. Worried, we made an emergency vet appointment at the nearby animal hospital (as our normal vet was not taking clients at the time), where we found out she had acute kidney failure. She was dying. We had to put her down.
> 
> So I'm a wreck.

Though the sun did little to warm the air, it did offer spectacular lighting for garden viewing. After so many days of rain and storming, the gardeners were busily darting about to clean up debris from the trees, and to quickly and carefully prune any broken branches, leaves, or flowers. The pathways through the rows of flowers and sculpted shrubs were already free of anything that might hinder a stroll. 

Considering Grelle was still learning to walk, she found that very helpful. Ciel strode along beside her, careful to keep his hand in hers. Though she had found her balance after dressing, she was still shaky. Having him so close was reassuring. At least, if she were to fall flat on her face, he would be there to shout at anyone who had seen her. 

She hoped he would, at least.

The boy was still a bit of a mystery to her. When they were alone, he oozed uncertainty and fear; pain and suffering held close to his heart. Outside, in the world beyond her bedroom, Ciel became aloof and a bit haughty, expecting everything to be done just so. Though he was not unkind to the servants and workers of the castle, he obviously saw them as tools instead of as people. They, in turn, looked upon him with waves of tight distrust, of worry, or billowing sneers. To them, he was a joke--this young prince from another land, taken in by the High Prince only because he had nowhere else to go. 

They were not that different, Grelle realized. She and Ciel were both taken in by powerful people, though she had not known it until recently. Both were royalty from other worlds, really, both trapped in Sand by the Sea. 

Yet, Sebastian seemed to care for Ciel so dearly--Ah. She frowned, turning away from the light of the sun for a moment to inspect a dark red rose. Had Angelina not loved her as well? Now the Red Queen lay rotting in the ocean somewhere, her neck snapped. There was no love, no life for her; not any longer. 

Grelle murdered her adoptive mother, and only now, miles upon miles away, standing in the greenery and color of a foreign garden, did she feel a pang of guilt. More than that, really; she did not realize she was openly crying until Ciel put his hand to her elbow. 

“What is it?” he asked, frowning. Still, the look in his eye suggested worry. He watched the woman as she shook her head fiercely, using the kerchief he offered to dab at her tears. 

“Nothing,” Grelle mumbled. “I was only remembering someone I used to know.” 

Gently, he leaned into her, sighing. “I have times like that as well, though I wish I did not. I would give anything to forget.”

She said nothing to that, though she understood. Her head was swimming with memories, with regret, with sorrow. She had killed her mother, her best friend--the woman who had saved her very life. The woman who had taken her in, who had given her everything. 

Grelle had thrown it all away in a fit of rage, of anger, of--She bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. It was done. It was over, and Angelina was gone. The Red Queen was dead, eternally. 

So lost in her own thoughts was Grelle that she did not notice Ciel stiffen beside her. It was not until she heard Sebastian’s voice that she forced herself into the open air of the present reality. With a frown, she looked up at the High Prince. He was smiling, just so, like a cat with a saucer of cream. 

“Good afternoon,” he purred, words elegant though simple. He offered Grelle a bow, taking her hand into his own to lay a soft kiss across her knuckles. “I do hope the day is treating you well, my lady.” 

She sighed, opening her mouth. A bit of blood dribbled out, but she ignored it, even as Sebastian stared for a moment too long. Damn her tongue. At least here, on the land, there was no salt water to burn her injury. “The day is fine. Ciel was showing me these flowers. Most beautiful.” 

“Ah, the roses,” Sebastian said as he straightened. He gave Ciel a curt nod of approval. “I do hope my son hasn’t caused you any issue.” 

Grelle waved her hand in the air, dismissing his calculated words. Though the man radiated warmth, she was realizing that he was just as cold, internally, as William. 

William. Her face paled, thinking on him. Her betrothed. Well. She suspected he had eased himself onto the throne by now. After all, he would have married her days ago, had she not fled. That made him, technically, next in line for the crown. There was a brief moment of guilt, of worry, for that, too. He would make a good King, surely. 

Better than she would have made a Queen. 

Yet--

“You seem troubled,” Ciel piped up, ignoring Sebastian for now. “Come, would you like to retire to your room?” 

“No.” Grelle pinched the top of her hand, hiding the motion in her sleeves. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Promise, love.” She forced a sharp-toothed grin, then glanced up at Sebastian from under her eyelashes. “Though if your father would care to walk with us, I wouldn’t mind. Not in the least.” Wiggling her shoulders, she looked away, pretending to be shy. 

“Ah. I would love to. However, I am awaiting a visitor from another kingdom. It would seem that there is some unrest on an island nation nearby.” Sebastian smiled, his lips thin and eyes narrowed. It was a wintery glance; a calculating one. “If I am to become King of this land, I must see to issues within the connecting countries and territories. Now, if you will excuse me.” 

He looked at Ciel for a moment too long, then disappeared, back through the rows of flowers and shrubs.

The wind blew cold, shaking the roses around them. Their scent permeated the air. It was almost too sweet, too gentle. “He is planning something,” Ciel mumbled, his hand going to cup one of the blooms gently. He ran his thumb over the bright, cherry red of the flower, eye narrowed as he lost himself in thoughts. “There are far too many moving parts.” 

“Oh?” Grelle asked. Her legs were shaking enough for her to wish to sit, but she held herself together for now. Still, her hands clutched at her dress, nails digging into the soft fabric in an attempt to direct her attention somewhere other than the pain she was feeling. 

_Don’t force him. Let him come to you. He is a frightened little fish; let him understand that you are safe for him. One gentle port in this vast ocean of deceit._

The boy pulled the bloom from its stem, killing the beautiful thing without a moment’s thought about it. Instead, he motioned for Grelle to lean down. He tucked the flower behind her ear, weaving it a bit into some loose hair so that it remained in place. “You are the only one I have now, Grelle,” he said, voice trembling. “I do not know you well, but I know you well enough. Do not trust Sebastian. Do not trust _anyone._ Even me. I am not sure if you can trust me, Grelle.” He pulled his hand away from her. 

She snatched his hand back into her own, looking at him fiercely. He found himself lost in her gaze, a small flounder enamoured by the false light of an angler fish’s lantern. The difference was that he was sure she would not eat him. 

Out of everyone else in this damned ocean, only she, the sharp-toothed beauty, would keep him safe. 

“I do trust you,” she said, finally. “You could have let me fall, this entire time. You are a true prince, hm? I suppose that makes me a damsel in distress.” Her smile lingered, though it softened. 

“A damsel doesn’t have teeth like a shark,” Ciel chuckled under his breath. “Come. It is growing cold. We should retire, perhaps have something warm to drink. How is your stomach feeling? Still tender?” 

Grelle hummed, slowly walking beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. She looked up at the castle, the sight of it blurry still to her. The wind blew, cold and calculating, against her shoulders. The salt of the nearby ocean hung in the air, overpowering the sweetness of the roses in that one moment. 

“I think I would like that,” she mumbled, finally. “Perhaps something more to eat as well. That--what was it called, toast?--was bland! I would rather have something savory. Mm-hm. Human food is...odd. So many different flavors that I haven’t tried. Or, at least, that I don’t have a memory of trying.” A frown passed over her face. 

Someone was watching her. She could feel eyes on her, watching. Waiting. And then, suddenly, _she_ was the tiny flounder, being drawn up into the frozen green light of eyes she knew all too well. Eyes that watched her from the edge of the garden, where Sebastian had disappeared to. Though it was not the High Prince watching her. Even with her eyesight gone bad, she knew. 

William watched her from beyond the safety of the roses. 

She froze, unable to move, as his stare devoured her. 


	15. The King of the Sea

Humans were stupid.

Merfolk were stupid.

_ Honestly. _ William had watched as the people passed him by, all of them staring. He strode into the city, eyes narrowed. It was difficult to see, he noted, but he had other senses he could rely on. The air around him shifted, the chill of it suiting him. As a man of the Deep Sea, he had no need for warmth. It was nice, of course, but his childhood had been spent far from the sun above. 

It had been Undertaker that had taken him from the depths, from the darkness he knew. That man had brought him up into the dim light of the sea above. They were both of the magical kind--and they understood each other, to a point. 

No. While William could not see well at the moment, he could feel every life humming around him, their energy and electricity palpable upon his skin. All of his skin, he realized, walking by a female as she clutched her offspring tight to her, pulling his eyes away from William. Ah. Humans wore clothing and things of the like more readily than merfolk did, apparently. There was no shame in his nudity--and indeed, a few people were looking at him with longing on their faces--but if he was to blend in, he would need to cover his pale skin with cloth. 

“Oi!” a voice snapped. William turned his head, just so, pausing in his stride. He listened and waited, feeling rather than seeing a couple of men dressed in bright colors rushing up to him. “Have you lost the plot, man? You can’t go about naked as the day is long!” 

One of the men with the speaker chuckled. “And it is  _ long, _ isn’t it?” His yellowed eyes roved down the undersea King’s form, lust plain on his pockmarked face. 

William straightened a bit, facing the slew of men. He took a breath, folding one hand across his midsection, and bowed. Clean. Crisp. Graceful and natural. He held himself, every bit, like the King he had freshly become. As he straightened up, watching the men with disinterest, he spoke. “My name is William. I am King of the undersea realm of the Kingdom of Coral.” He paused, forcing his magic through his voice, through his words. 

The men looked to each other. “Got a nutter here,” the first man said with a deep frown. He looked back at William. “Did you come from the house?” 

“I came from the sea.” 

“Ah...okay, buddy. Shame. He’s so nice looking.” The second man stepped forward, pulling some rope from a clip on his hip. “It’s alright, sir. We’ll get you back to the house, where you belong. They’ll tuck you in, nice and tight--” Then his eyes widened, and he scrambled back. “What the fuck--”

William pressed his magic back, threading it into the water pouring from a nearby fountain. Without a sound, without struggle, he forced it toward him like a thread, pushing and twisting it up as he sent his power out to wrangle it. It pooled up and around him, sweeping across the ground like wings made of pure liquid. It obscured him, all of him, save for the icy green of his eyes. 

Then the water fell away, splashing to the ground in a thunderous moment of rain. It left him clothed, his body now covered with a black silk shirt and soft leather trousers. He flicked a few stray droplets off of him, catching them in his hand and forcing them to form glasses. These, he placed upon the bridge of his nose. “Ah,” he mumbled. “That is better. Honestly. Your kind is so weak. It is pathetic.” 

Everyone in the city square froze, watching him. A few started to bow, some falling to their knees to grovel. Even the men before him, so ready to capture him for indecency, stared at him in awe. “F-forgive us, sire of the sea,” the first man gasped. He dropped before William, his entire body shaking. “Please, please, forgive us. We--we didn’t know--”

“--it’s been so long since a man like you visited--”

“Enough.” William snapped. He pressed the glasses up his nose, eyes glaring daggers at the two men. “I have use of you both, I believe. I am looking for someone--a woman with hair blood red and eyes just as green as my own.” He watched as the men looked at each other, confused, frightened. They knew nothing. A sigh. “Very well. I will look for her myself.” 

The men gathered themselves, springing up. “Wait, wait! Please. We--we should help you somehow.” 

“Then do so, and stop your idiocy.” William waited as the two men jabbered back and forth at each other, lips and tongues wagging.  _ Disgusting beasts, _ the new King thought to himself. There was a pull from beside him, and he turned to see a child looking up at him with wide, sapphire blue eyes. “What do you want?” 

Blinking, the child stepped back. “You’re really from the ocean?” William nodded sharply. “O-oh. My pa told me about a pretty lady from the ocean, too. He said she had really bright red hair, like you asked about. She had a tail. You don’t have a tail.” 

With a deep breath, William knelt next to the child. He looked at the boy, frowning, but listened. He tipped his head to one side, just so, encouraging the youth to continue speaking. 

“You don’t have a tail,” the boy pressed.

“I usually do.” 

“Can I see?”

“...No. You can, however, tell me what your father told you, about this woman with red hair.” 

Inhaling a breath, the child turned to look at his mother. The woman was as pale as a sheet, her mouth hanging open in a worried circle. After a second, she bit her lip and nodded. The boy grinned at William now. “Pa’s a sailor. He goes to different places sometimes, to get money. So we can eat! ...you...you know what food is, right?” 

William’s eyebrow twitched. “I do,” he relented. 

“Oh. Okay. Well. Pa went off to sea because he was ‘upposed to help sail out with the High Prince and his son. I guess the little prince fell off of the boat, and this pretty lady with red hair scooped him up ‘n’ gave him back to the High Prince!”

“Really.”

“Yep! Really!”

It was a lead. A shaky lead, to be certain, but it was something. More than he had a moment ago. William nodded to the boy. He drew up water from the cobblestones, turning it into a coin of gold. He passed it off to the child, who had a huge grin on his face. “Thank you. Now, might I speak with your father?” 

It had taken a day. An entire day, removed from the two months he had before he would turn to foam upon the sands. According to the captain, it would take a few days to reach Sand by the Sea at best. Two weeks at worst. 

William did not have two weeks.

Standing upon the ship, he looked out over the ocean. They were away from the port of the small island nation, a few hours out to sea. Now, without having to worry about accidentally drowning the town, he called upon his power once again. He closed his eyes, focusing. 

All of his energy, his power, his soul, dipped back down into the water. Threading his being into every drop of water, he pushed and forced the waves to help the ship along. He rose up again, to the air this time, and forced the wind to blow into the sails. Speed. He needed speed. 

With his power spent, the ship was basically flying across the water. 

The deck rose up to meet him. William slammed into the wood of the ship, his knees giving out. He had never had to push himself that much before. Never before had he forced himself to move the sea and the air; never before had he asked so much of himself and the world around him. 

“Sire--” one of the shiphands gasped. She rushed forward to him, throwing her own jacket over his shaking shoulders. He looked at her sharply, heaving, struggling to find himself again. “F-forgive me, sire. You need rest--”

“I am fine,” he snapped. He did not trust these humans, especially not so close. Yet, the woman looked genuinely concerned with his health. With one flick of his hand, he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I have not had to use my ability in such a way before.” 

The young woman frowned. Her skin was weathered by years at sea, despite the youthfulness of her eyes. She would be wrinkled and worn before too long, dust before her time. Still, she seemed kind. 

Despite himself, William found that he could relax. Other members of the crew were moving to help him as well, one bringing him a foul smelling drink that helped to soothe the headache forming behind his eyes and at his temples. They were kind to him without being too touchy. 

By the time night came, he was sitting with them, listening to one of the hands as he sang and another played an odd, stringed instrument. The woman from earlier sat beside him, on a barrel, her eyes glistening in the starlight as she passed a flagon of grog to him. 

William sipped the stuff, wrinkling up his nose at the taste. Still, he found himself comfortable, and at ease. These people, these  _ humans _ , made him feel, for the first time in his life, like he belonged. 

The projected two weeks was cut down to three days with the aid of William’s magic. Each day, he rose at dawn to speed the ship along. Every afternoon, he spent time learning the ways of sailing, of tending to the boat. The female hand taught him more about human history than the Sea Witch ever thought to. She liked it, the thought of what had come, and spoke so passionately of old wars and kingdoms lost that he found himself liking it, too. 

In the evening, he would sit and eat with the crew. After the first night, he did not drink any of their alcohol, though he managed to bring fresh rains to the ship to allow for good water for everyone to drink. He brought fish from below to eat. They were not afraid of his craft, of the magic that flowed so naturally through him. They were not afraid of  _ him _ at all. They were in awe of him, yes, but fear? No. Instead of spitting at him, screaming, calling names, they cheered him, cared for him when the overuse of his spells left him shaking on the deck like a freshly beheaded flounder. 

By the third day, he knew the name of every person aboard the ship. William understood the basics of sailing, of ship upkeep. The female hand had taught him enough history for him to know the reason for the current state of the world above. 

And he found that he did not wish to leave them. 

“William,” the woman said. She had taken to calling him by his name a few hours ago, and it sounded nice on her tongue. She motioned to the port of Sand by the Sea, tears in her eyes. “You’ll come back, right?”

“If I can,” he lied. It hurt more than he thought it would. He knew he would not return to them once Grelle was dead, her and her lover’s hearts tucked safely against his hip and the silver dagger coated with their blood. That thought hurt, too. He looked at the woman, her freckles and the soft curls of her red hair. She reminded him of Grelle, when she was younger, before the weight of who she would become had crushed her spirit into anger and ruin. 

Gently, he took the woman’s hand and kissed her knuckles. She nodded. “You’re after a woman, right?” she asked, her voice catching. “You must love her, an awful lot, to come all this way for her.” 

“I do,” he said, before he could catch himself. Then, quieter, “I do.” 

“I hope you find her, William.”

He straightened, dipping his head just so. “As do I.” He felt the weight of the dagger, hanging from the belt he had formed. Darkness clouded his eyes, for just a moment, before he dissolved into the same chill he had found comfortable for the length of his life. “As do I.”

As it turned out, requesting a meeting with the High Prince was easier than William had first assumed. Though there were guards about, very few of them seemed as though they would cause him issue, should he need to battle any of them. There was one, however, with blonde hair that was milling about, that William took note of. That one oozed magic tucked away behind thick bonds of a vow; the energy about him read ancient, despite his young looking face. 

William made a mental note to keep an eye on that one. 

“Our High Prince shall meet you outside of the rose garden,” one of the servants said with a sweeping bow. “Please, follow me, sir.” 

Since leaving the ship, William’s resolve had returned. Even if he found himself doubting his abilities to take Grelle’s heart, he knew that his time was limited. Either she died, or he did. The Kingdom of Coral was looking to him, as their new King, to keep it safe. Every person, every mermaid, merman, child, and everything between, needed and deserved to be led by a good, strong ruler. Someone who could read the board, who could plan and plot. Someone who could keep them protected, and prosperous. 

Someone painfully cold, like death. Someone who had an edge with the ability to use magic, to control the sea itself. 

Not just anyone. William knew he was the only merman who could rule the kingdom peacefully, lovingly. Coldly. 

“The High Prince will be with you shortly. I see him coming toward us,” the servant said, voice a touch cheerful. William followed the other man’s gaze. He glanced at the tall gentleman in black with garnet eyes, then away. He knew a royal when he saw one. However, he could feel  _ her. _ Her energy, her flame, her rage and passion and love.

Ah. William paused, his heart fluttering, no matter how quickly he told it to still. He watched Grelle, standing beside a young teenager, looking upon the plethora of brightly colored flowers. There was one tucked behind her ear, tangled up in the red of her hair. She looked paler than he remembered, with curves pressed against the fabric of the dress she wore. She was beautiful, and whole, and perfect--

And he wanted to kiss the bud of her lips.

_ No _ , he snapped at himself, watching her speak with the boy. The boy--he radiated the energy of the tides, of deep blue water and hints of witchcraft. The Sea Witch’s grandson, the King realized with a huff. There he was, with Grelle, approaching.

William pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze turning again to the man in black. “Welcome,” the High Prince said, offering a slight bow, which William returned stiffly. “I received word that a noble from the sea would be visiting. Two in such a short period of time is a surprise. Excuse my manners, sire.” 

“Not at all,” William snapped. The man smelled of smoke and soot, of hidden deeds and unspoken lies. With a sigh, the merman glanced back at Grelle. “I have come to collect my wife.” 

“Oh?” the High Prince chuckled. “Have you, then. I see. That is a bit of an issue, I am afraid.” He crossed his arms over his chest, smiling in a most wicked manner. “I have plans for her, you see. I will not relinquish that which I have managed to claim so easily.” 

With cold eyes snapping back to the man in black, William’s lips pulled down into a tight, neat frown. “Is that so,” he rumbled. 

“Yes, for you see, I need her heart.” 

“As do I.” 

The men stared at each other, neither speaking, for a long minute. Finally, the High Prince looked away, toward the woman in question and the boy with her. “I suppose it will come down to who is able to capture it first, then. We are both gentlemen, o’ great Lord of the Sea.” He offered his hand, grinning with all of the mirth of the Devil himself. “Shall we make a wager?” 

“I am listening,” William said, ignoring the hand as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“There is a legend, here, above the waves, that should someone devour the heart of a mermaid--a heart so full of love for another it would otherwise burst--that they who supped upon the flesh would become immortal.” The High Prince’s eyes flashed, all Hellfire and wicked desire. 

William bristled. “I need her heart myself,” he snapped, “for my own purposes.” He felt that he had no need to offer that he also needed the heart of the person that Grelle fell in love with. That was his secret, and his alone. After all, there was no need to show all of his cards right at the start of the game. He had to keep his hand close to his chest, for now. “Are you suggesting that we--”

“--indeed. We will both work whatever wiles we have to woo the young lady. The winner will have her heart--both figuratively and physically, I suppose.” He chuckled at that, turning away from William to greet the woman in question as she and the boy approached. “Ah. We meet again. Ciel, Lady Grelle, this is our guest.” He motioned to William, eyes shadowed, watching. 

William bowed, just so, his eyes upon Grelle the entire time. She was startled, and rightfully so. 

_ Let the game begin, then. _


	16. The Curtain Rises

“William, what are you doing here?” Grelle said. Her voice was unusually flat, emotionless. Her eyes glared daggers at him, however, so there was that. Her rage fell off of her in waves, not unlike the sea if it were to boil. “Sebastian, excuse me, but you cannot allow this man here.” Then there was a touch of panic--just a taste. 

“I have come to collect you,” William said easily. He folded his arms over his chest, standing much more steadily than she was. As a human, he was taller than her, a fact he found a bit surprising. Humans were odd creatures, so he supposed that it would be in line with them to not grow to a size to show their status. Even so, she was no longer Queen, so perhaps their size difference still held some truth. “However--”

Grelle practically hissed. “Come to collect me? I left of my own free will.” 

“Hm. Your mother would say otherwise, I am sure.” He watched her wriggle, a fish on a hook, as she tried to figure out the meaning behind his words. William moved so that he was beside her, easy and fluid, while she shook. “I know what you have done, Grelle.” His words were meant for her, and her alone. The look on her face as it paled, those lovely eyes widening and that sweet mouth forming a soft o. Ah. If she kept her tongue from wagging, he was certain he could find her beautiful. 

The garden fell away from her. William knew. He knew that she had murdered the Red Queen, that she had fled. He knew everything, then, she was sure. He had come to fetch her, to drag her back to the sea, to force her to pay for her crimes against her own, damned mother. 

He intended to watch her drown, in a way, for acting in a fit of rage. 

Swallowing, she shook her head. “Sebastian, forgive me. My betrothed showing up here, so unexpectedly…”

“It is quite alright, my lady,” Sebastian said smoothly, his voice a gentle hum against the quickly chilling air. “Your husband--”

“We aren’t married.”

“--yet,” William added, watching her, pinning her down with his stare.

Sebastian paused. “Forgive me. At any rate, Sir William has come a long way to fetch you, my lady. I have offered him a room in the castle for a time, allowing him to recuperate before the two of you decide what is to happen.” He leaned in, taking Grelle’s hand in his own. He lay a soft, feather-light kiss alonger the top, then turned her hand over to do the same to her wrist. When he looked up at her, his eyes were smoldering. “Though I am afraid I have grown rather fond of you, my lady.” 

Stiffening, William glared now at the High Prince. “You have only just met her,” he snapped. “I have known her for most of her life. You have nothing to offer her but a world of sand.” 

Grelle blinked. Were they--were they fighting over her? The sudden realization of that brought a bright pink to her cheeks, and she had to look to Ciel for confirmation. The boy was staring at Sebastian with distrust. 

_ “Too many moving parts,”  _ he had said. She remembered those words now. She had to speak with Ciel, to gather his thoughts on this turn of events. She, herself, was rather over stimulated. She had no idea what to think! Part of her loved it, and truly; two handsome men fighting over her? What wasn’t to like?

Yet--yet. She knew William well enough. She had known him for as long as she could remember. He had so many years to fall in love with her, for her to fall for him. He was cold, cunning, and calculating. He did not make a single move without considering the entire board, without planning his actions out well in advance. 

Then there was Sebastian, the High Prince. Othello had warned her to not trust him, as had Ciel. She did not know the man well enough to judge him, though he was painfully handsome and radiated warmth. 

She pinched the top of her hand under her sleeves, forcing herself to think. 

“Very well. William, was it? He will stay in the castle, if that is what you think is best. However, I would like Grelle’s rooms to be moved closer to my own. I have grown fond of her as well--and she understands my night terrors far better than any of the servants do,” Ciel said, young voice firm. It dripped, just so, with child-like demands, suggesting that he would throw a fit if his way was not given to him. Grelle stared at him, half surprised that he had come to her rescue. 

“I...I would like that as well. The boy needs a mother figure in his life. No offense, Sebastian, but I feel as though you are too hard on him at times.” Grelle offered the High Prince a smile. “Besides--I am all alone in the East Wing. I would much rather be closer to someone I can trust.” 

“Don’t you trust my servants?” Sebastian asked. He had a smirk on his face, eyes lidded. He, too, was watching her squirm--and worse yet, he seemed to be enjoying it. 

Ciel took Grelle’s hand. He glared up at Sebastian, then offered William a similar glance. “If you will excuse us, we were just about to get something to eat. It is nearly lunchtime and the lady has been living off of dry toast for the last few days. Surely you would not wish for her to starve. Perhaps the two of you could discuss things between yourselves, and get to know one another. After all, it would seem that you are both very interested in the lady’s heart.” 

Both men looked startled for a moment before regaining their composure. William quickly nodded, just a straight up and down jerk of his head, while Sebastian chuckled into his hand. “I see,” the High Prince said. “You’ve taken a side, then, little Prince.” 

“As have you,  _ father. _ ” Coming from Ciel’s lips, it was more of an insult than a term of endearment. He pushed by the two men, dragging Grelle along behind him. “Come, my lady. The cook makes a most excellent stew this time of the year that will help to warm you.” 

“Ah--alright,” Grelle mumbled. Her eyes were wide, the green of them glinting like fresh leaves on the rose bushes behind her. Casting one last glance at William and Sebastian, she felt as though a trap had been sprung upon her; only because of the boy was she out of harm’s way. For now, at least. It was not until they both turned away from the castle’s doors that she realized something else was happening. 

Finally, she snatched back her hand. “Tell me what’s going on,” she snapped. Teeth bared, she looked very much like a shark, cornered in a fishing net. It took her a moment, her body shivering, to gather herself. “Look, I am able to defend myself well enough, even on land, I would think. However--and I will admit this--I am not the most intelligent woman. That isn’t to say that I am stupid--but I feel like there are so many pieces missing that I can’t put anything together. What is happening?” She put her hands to her face, looking down at the ground with wide eyes. “Why is William here? Has he come to take me back--to hold me accountable--”

“Grelle.” 

“--and the way the two of them looked at me! As though I was a piece of meat, dangling before them, my blood on the water! A frenzy of manly urges? Is that what has happened? But why so suddenly! William never seemed so interested in me before, and Sebastian! I assumed I was not his type at all!” 

“Grelle.” 

“Are they really fighting? Over me? I feel like I should be honored, humbled even! Yet I feel like they are going to kill me in my sleep and do horrible things with my body!” 

Ciel grabbed her hand again, pulling her down to his level so that he could look into her eyes. His own, singular, blue eye was sparkling, though not with child-like wonder or any of that rubbish. No. He had seen the board, the match between William and Sebastian, and had seen both of their moves long before either man had played a single second of it. 

“Grelle,” he said, evenly, carefully. “Listen to me. I believe Sebastian and William have a wager between them, with you as the prize.” 

She frowned sharply. “Why, though?” 

“I do not know entirely. Not yet. But there is something that you hold that they both want. Something that they both need so badly that they would be willing to kill over it.” 

Sucking in a breath, she knelt down. This was more comfortable on her new legs, but it also served to keep her at eye level with the prince. She furrowed her brows together, looking worriedly at the boy. “What do I do? What do  _ we _ do?” 

Ciel straightened. “For now? We do nothing. We gather information. You pretend you do not know that something is going on between the two of them. Pretend to be wooed by them. Just...be an actress, if you can manage.” 

To this, Grelle’s face dropped into a wide, toothy grin. “Oh, love,” she purred. “I think I can do that. I believe I can do that very, very well.” 


	17. Late Night Visit

Grelle lay in the bed she had been given--a fresh one, now, closer to Ciel’s personal chambers--and stared blankly upward. No longer did she have the canopy to look at while she attempted to sleep. Instead, there was the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, she reasoned, with copper tiles that had little grapes and leaves sculpted on them. Still. There was something unnerving about not having something so close above her. 

The previous bed had been a comfortable cocoon. This one was too open, too large, too--too-- She couldn’t think. Pressing her palms into her eyes, she sucked in a deep, unsteady breath. The day had been long, and confusing. She still did not feel the best, honestly, and her mind was muddled. With another breath, this one deeper, she tried to gather her thoughts. 

She knew for certain, with Ciel’s help, that Sebastian and William were plotting something. Something that was good for them, but dangerous for her. She knew that there was more to Othello’s potion than she had originally thought--thanks to a quick warning from Ronald--and that was an entirely other thing she had to wrap her mind around. Ciel was a merfolk, whether he knew it or not--she understood that, too. When he felt frightened, worried, or extremely angry, she could see the soft, pale blue scales of who he was underneath the human guise pop up. 

“Why am I even here?” she asked herself, the air above her. The copper ceiling stared back at her. “Why am I here?” 

**“Because you murdered me.”**

Grelle paused, listening. Her eyes darted about, taking in as much of the room as she could. “Mother?” she whispered, before she could help herself. “Angelina?” 

Silence. 

“Fuck,” Grelle hissed, pressing her palms against her temples. “I can’t lose my head, too. Keep yourself together, woman.” Pinching her cheeks, she whimpered. “Keep it together.”

Silence. 

She gulped down a mouthful of air, then closed her eyes. Relax. She told herself to relax, to calm herself. To sleep. Sleep. 

Just as she started to slip away into the warmth of the night, there came a knock upon her down. It was soft, quick, efficient. It pulled her back into the land of the waking. Huffing, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Who is it?” she growled. 

“May I come in?”  _ William. _

Grelle pulled her blankets up to her neck. “No,” she snapped. “Go away.” She waited, listening. No footfalls, nothing. Just the soft quiet of the night. It was a comfortable silence, tender and sweet. She liked it, in an odd way; she knew damned well that her betrothed was still on the other side of the door, but he was too polite to force his way inside. Instead, he stood there, waiting. Listening, just as she was waiting and listening to him. 

Finally, she relented. “Come in, then, but if you try anything stupid, I will bite you.” 

The door opened quietly. “I am sure you will,” William said, voice low to keep from waking anyone else in the castle. The walls were thick, true enough, but not thick enough to keep from stirring anyone should a voice or noise be too loud. He paused by the door, watching her, his eyes glowing softly in the otherwise near darkness of the room. “You always were one to nip should you feel I swam out of line.” 

Pulling herself up, Grelle glared at him. “What do you want?” 

“Is that any way to treat your husband?” 

“You aren’t my husband.” 

“Yet.”

Grelle pressed her lips together. Ciel had given her a knife, which was tucked under her pillow. Just in case. Still, she had faith in her own abilities. She had bested William before in sparring; she could do it again, if she needed to, even in a weak, human form. Yet as he moved closer to her, her resolve began to fall away. He was taller than her now, and very sturdy. He seemed to have no issue with walking; rather, he was graceful in his movements, moving as fluidly on land as he was able to in the sea. 

Her breath caught in her throat, watching him as he sat on the edge of her bed. His eyes were cold, frozen, and so beautiful that she found herself staring. His hair was a mess, as though he could not sleep, as though he had run his hands through it far too many times. One of the servants had brought him pajamas, though the top two buttons of his shirt were unlatched, leaving the smooth, pale panels of his chest just teasingly visible. 

When she caught herself staring at him, something stirring inside of her, she realized she had allowed the blanket covering her to drop. She looked up into his eyes again, startled, and saw William staring back at her, his eyes moving down the lines of her throat and over the gentle curves of her chest. 

They looked at each other, then, into each other's eyes. It was electric; it was fire and heat and Grelle never thought she would see such a look upon William’s face. He leaned for her, touching the side of her face with his fingertips. 

“Will you have me?” he asked, voice just barely above a whisper. 

“I--I’ve never--”

“Nor have I.” 

Silence. 

Grelle folded her hands on her lap, feeling the sheer fabric of her nightgown slip over her shoulder. William’s eyes followed, widening a bit. Just a touch. “William.” The sternness of her voice drew his gaze to her face, her lips. “I know you want something from me.” She watched him, waiting. “Why did you come after me?” 

“You are my wife--”

“No. No, William, I’m not. If you had wanted to care about me, you’ve had thirteen years to show me your feelings. Why now? You know...you know what happened. You know what I did.”

He paused before offering a short, quick nod. 

“Then why--”

“I cannot lie to you,” he said, voice hushed. This wasn’t like him. This gentle side to him--Grelle had never seen it before. It was frightening in a way she could not explain. It was unknown territory. It was--it was-- “I have to carve your heart from your chest, and the heart of the person you love, or I will die.” 

She froze. “E-excuse me?” 

His eyes shimmered. “It is what I bargained for, to keep you from returning to the Kingdom of Coral. To make sure that I remain the new King. It is what I have to do to keep our people safe, and cared for.” 

She threw a pillow at his head, hitting him with enough forward to send him off of the edge of the bed. “You can have it!” she shrieked. “I don’t want it, not at all! You’d be a better King than I, Queen--we both know that! So why did you bargain to kill me?!” She snarled, leaping from the bed to straddle him. In the movement, she grabbed the knife, it’s bone handle smooth and cold in her hand. The blade of it was jagged. Any slice she made with it would hurt. She brought it to his throat. 

William stared up at her, his lips parted. He pressed his body up, into the edge of the blade. It dipped into his skin, just enough to draw blood. “There has been a complication,” he admitted. With blood oozing out of the wounds, he watched her. Waiting. 

“Oh? Well, tell me, then,” Grelle snarled. She leaned in, pressing her weight against it. If the bastard wanted to die, then she would spill every ounce of his sweet, red blood across the carpet. She would paint the walls with his crimson remorse. She would wear his life upon her lips, stain her skin with it--

“...I love you,” William said, softly, just the hint of emotion in his voice. He was so open just then, so raw and weak. He felt her falter, he felt her body shiver. Tenderly, gently, he put his palm against her cheek. The pad of his thumb ran over the corner of her lip. “I believe I always have. I simply did not realize it until now.” 

The knife fell from her hands, clattering to the ground beside William’s head. Even with a bit of blood rolling from his throat, he looked upon her with something that made her want to believe him. Something that screamed at her, tugged at her, pulled her to him. 

He pushed himself up, cupping the back of her head with his hand. “I want you to love me, too, Grelle.” Leaning in, he moved his mouth toward hers, a kiss so close--

The door behind him flew open. Heaving, Ciel stood in his nightshirt, a pistol in hand. “Get away from her,” he seethed, lone eye wide. “Don’t hurt her--”

“It’s alright, love,” Grelle said softly, her voice shaking. She stood up, legs like jelly, and leaned against the bed. “I had forgotten to lock my door. That’s all. William came to check on me--”

“I am young, but I am not stupid, Grelle,” Ciel snapped. He trained the gun on William. “It is improper to visit a lady so late at night--and with a dagger upon your hip, no less.” 

Grelle paused, glancing down. There certainly was a dagger, silver in nature, strapped to William’s side. She glared at it. Then, lightning fast, she grabbed the man by the lapels of his shirt. Just centimeters apart, she bared her teeth in his face. “Try harder next time, hm?” she purred, voice dripping venom and eyes as hot as the center of the Earth itself. “You say you need my heart--well. I will keep it better guarded in the future.” She planted a kiss on his forehead before thrusting him against the wall. “Now. Get out. Stay out.” 

He straightened, fixing his collar in silence. Then, quietly, “I did not lie to you.” Without another word, without another second for a word to be uttered, he brushed by Ciel and out of the door, into the darkness of the long, dark corridor. 


	18. Her Song

“Again.” Steel flashed, catching the light streaming in through the high windows. Blades clashed against each other, the cling and clang of the fight echoing up into the ceiling and out into the corridor beyond. This room was made for this, for sparring, for the beauty of swordplay; it was lined with all different sorts of weaponry, the walls gilded with murals of battles long since fought. 

Yet, before that moment, it had never felt alive. 

From his seat, Ciel watched. He watched every moment, every movement. The two men were all grace and steely resolve; this was more than a sparring match. This was a sort of fight to the death. Neither would back down until there was blood, until one was bested. 

This was their game, and neither wished to lose. 

Beside him, Grelle watched as well, her green eyes massive in her head behind the new pair of glasses she had received. Her hands clenched and relaxed, lips parted, just so, breathing stilled. Back and forth, over and over, they were fighting--

\--for  _ her _ .

William darted forward, his sword point finding an opening at Sebastian’s side. The High Prince fell back at the last moment, parrying the blow with a flick of his wrist. They glared at each other, both sweating, both gasping lightly for breath. “I did not expect a man such as yourself to know how to fight with human weapons,” Sebastian chuckled. “You are almost good at it.” 

“I did not expect a man such as yourself to be able to move so freely,” William countered. “Honestly, I had thought your legs would tangle in themselves.” Another lunge, this one coming up quick. “You must understand, however; water weighs more, creates friction and pull against the body.” 

Sebastian gasped, his eyes wide. Only by chance was he able to fall back, this time, right onto his behind. Had he remained a moment longer, William would have skewered him through the throat. Recovering quickly, he chuckled, standing. “It would seem that I underestimated you, Lord Spears.” 

“Yes, you have,” William returned. He used the point of the sword to push his glasses up his nose, eyes still glaring a look that was sharper than any known blade. “Remember your place.” 

“...my place?” Sebastian said. He smiled, but it was all sickly, fake sweet--icing on a cake made of sod. “I am afraid I do not follow.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” William turned his back on the man, turning instead to the nearby wall to replace his borrowed weapon. There was a sound, just so, behind his ear. He tipped his head to one side as Sebastian’s sword embedded itself in the wall, just a hair’s breadth from slicing the merman’s throat from behind. 

Smiling still, Sebastian dusted his hands off. “Take care of mine as well, would you?”

“Show offs,” Ciel snapped, disinterested now. He leaned his head against Grelle’s shoulder, taking in her scent. There was still the smell of the sea on her--the tang of salt water and thunderstorms--but some of it had been replaced with the delicate sweetness of roses, of the soaps she used to bathe with. 

A pang of sadness rolled over him, and he had to pull away. “We’re ruining you,” he mumbled. He took her hand. “Come on, I wish to walk in the gardens.”

“Mm-hm,” Grelle mumbled, her eyes still lingering on the two men. “Do you think I could...have both?” 

“What?!” Ciel snapped. He tugged on her hand a bit harder, forcing her out of her chair. “Get your head out of the clouds! They want to kill you, or worse.” His voice was a hiss, meant only for her. “I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Grelle sighed, following after the boy. She let him hold her hand, though she no longer needed his aid. It had taken a week, but by Sunday, she was walking with as much grace as she swam in the sea. In heels, even, the thought of which terrified Ciel at first. Now he did not seem to mind--and even if he had, she liked how they made her look a bit taller, and her feet a bit smaller. Human women cared about their figures, about looking dainty and beautiful.

She wanted that, too. 

Maybe Ciel was right. Maybe the human world was ruining her. 

Maybe she wanted to be ruined. 

Once they were in the garden proper, surrounded by the blooms and colors of the flowers Grelle had grown to love so much, Ciel looked at her. Hard. His lone eye was shimmering, his brows lowered. Anger. Worry? Perhaps. She ignored him for now, settling down on their usual bench, breathing in the delicate blooms around them. It was warmer now, the storms gone, and a few honey bees buzzed by happily. 

“Grelle, are you even listening to me?” Ciel snapped. 

“Not really,” she admitted, realizing he had been going on about something. The sun was warm on her skin. It had started to bring out adorable freckles along her shoulders and arms, as well as across the bridge of her nose. Some of the women she had spoken to thought such things were a sign of poor skincare, but when they saw the porcelain white of her skin with the tender spattering of cream and red-brown, well. She saw a lot of women walking around with false freckles now, some of them having even dyed their hair into hues of red or orange. 

Ciel grabbed her face by the chin, holding her in his hand with enough force to make her jaw joint crack. He was looking into her eyes, using his thumb to pull down her lids. “Shit,” he snapped, releasing her. 

“What’s wrong?” she mumbled, almost giddily. 

“They’ve drugged you, haven’t they.” 

“Hmm?” 

He climbed into the seat beside her. “I thought you’d been acting differently lately. This confirms it. One of them--or maybe both of them--must be drugging you to keep you compliant. To keep you stupid.” He pulled off his outer jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I think we need to go see your brother. He might know of a way to keep you in your right mind.” 

“Mm...Othello could do that?” Grelle mumbled lazily. She leaned into Ciel, nuzzling her forehead against his slender shoulder. He let her, even putting an arm around her, until she had fallen asleep in his lap. 

Ciel idly played with a few strands of her hair, eventually falling into braiding it. It was messy--he did not have much practice. Still, he found that he was enjoying her closeness. No one had really been this close to him since…

He squeezed his eye shut. No. He could not think of the family he had lost. He could not think of the fire, of the blood, of the screams. He could not think of his twin brother being pulled out of his arms--

Warm, wet tears splattered onto Grelle’s cheek. She mumbled softly, hand reaching up to figure out what was happening. When she drew back, when she looked at her fingertips, even in her haze she was able to tell that they were tears. Soft, salty, hot. “C...Ciel?” 

“I told you not to call me that,” the boy snapped. He was crying still, silently sobbing into his hand. He cringed, pulling back from her as she sat up. “That isn’t my name. It was  _ his _ . It was his--”

He found himself, suddenly, wrapped up in her arms. She was holding him now, tightly to her chest. She was soft, and warm, and smelled of both the sea and the land. This shark-toothed woman, once a creature of the sea, was more motherly, more loving than anyone else he had known since his own mother had been ripped from him. 

Now, he realized with horror, she was going to ripped away from him as well. 

He could not lose another person. 

No. 

Grelle cradled Ciel to her, shushing him. Her brain was muddled and fuzzy, but she knew she had to keep him safe. She had no child of her own, but she loved him, now, like he was her own son. She wanted him to be happy. Tears were not happy; not these ones, at least. 

She opened her mouth, and sang for him. 

Across the castle, across the city, across the kingdom of Sand by the Sea, every single person stopped what they were doing. They listened. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone simply listened to the beautiful, tragic, painful song that rose up out of nowhere. The Siren’s song, the song of the sea, the song of the land and the Earth and creation. No one understood the words. No one knew the melody. It simply was, for a few minutes, a peaceful hum of electric understanding. A moment of time that none would remember as bad, or terrible. A moment of pure love, and longing, and death, and life. 

It was everything, everything.

And still, it was nothing at all. 

It was her love, for him, for what she wanted for him. Grelle sang until her throat hurt, until her voice broke as she could no longer even speak. For him, she would give her voice, her words, her song. To make him happy, she realized, she would give anything. 

Shivering, Ciel looked up at her. His eye was shining, unshed tears reflected in the light of the sun above. Grelle was haloed in it, smiling down at him, even as blood dripped from her lips. “What did you do?” he gasped, shaking now. He reached up, brushing some of the blood from her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Grelle?” 

She opened her mouth, but could not speak. Instead, she tugged the eyepatch away from Ciel’s damaged eye, brushing her own thumb against the once ragged eyelid. She smiled, tenderly, as the boy opened the eye for the first time in years, pupil focusing on her. 

For him, she would give her voice so that he could see. 


	19. Learning to Swim

The moon was high in the sky, fully and round. There were stars, too, the night sky so clear that it might have been a reflection of the ocean below it. Where the heavens started and ended was mixed in with the water beneath; they were one world, endless, drifting off to the edge of forever. 

Two sets of feet padded along the beige sands of the shore, darting between the dunes and right up to the edge of the water. The people they belonged to huffed, their breath rising up into the air as little puffy clouds of steam. Behind them, the gates of Sand by the Sea lingered, guards watching everywhere but them. They were silent, those two; at least, as much as they could be. 

Finally, they found a stretch of sand that no one could watch. In the distance, the Witch of the Sand’s house cooed softly in her sleep, ruffling the small patches of feathers on her roof and along her seaweed encrusted siding. The witch himself sat on the porch, smoking quietly from a pipe, his bright green eyes staring up at the endless sky. 

Grelle started to hastily pull off her clothing, her fingers pulling at the corset strings and throwing down the damnable skirts that covered her. Beside her, Ciel was calmer, watching, as he pulled away his coat. His eyes darted this way and that, mismatched now, one a gorgeous blue, like the sky he was named for, and the other, a deep, rich violet. 

Blue and red; his eye showed himself and her, the woman he was starting to consider family, together. Mother and son. 

He was relieved when she dove into the water, hiding her body from him. The splash reached the sands he stood on, the waves drinking up the shore before releasing it again in a soft huff of bubbling foam. The water glimmered from the moon, turning red for a moment--the light or the sea, he was not certain--and when Grelle resurfaced before him a few yards out, she was a mermaid again. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound exited from between her ruby lips. Ah. She had forgotten for a moment. Pouting, she motioned him in, one hand outstretched for him. 

Ciel drew a breath, then another. One. Two. Three-- He squeezed his eyes shut. He trusted her, as much as Sebastian whispered to him not to. She was the heat of the sun, the warmth of a hug; the more he got to know the dangerous beauty, the more he wanted to be with her, as family, as her child. Sebastian had tried--damn it all, he had--but Grelle was just more natural in her love for him.

Love.

Oh. He hadn’t thought of that word in a long time. 

Grelle mouthed, “Trust me, pet,” and motioned him into the surf again. 

The boy straightened, his chin up. One step. Two. Three. Then he began to run, diving into the cold water as the salty air left his lungs. It was different, he realized, than when she pulled him from the ocean all of those weeks ago. It was so strange then. Wrong. He was terrified that he was going to die, to drown. Now? Now he could feel himself being lost to the toss of the waves, the spray of the surf. Salt water had burned his eyes before, his mouth. Now he drank it down like the air above, letting it fill him. 

He knew. 

He understood.

It was natural for him, now. With her, this world was his. Theirs. He surfaced with a gasp, dizziness pulling at him. He kicked, stronger than he had ever been. And she was there, that sharp, shark-like smile upon her face, radiating pride. 

Ciel laughed. He laughed until he cried, holding onto the mermaid, his tail forming and sweeping across the length of the sand and stones beneath the water. It didn’t hurt. It felt right, and good, and like he had come home. 

She was his home, he realized, and sobbed into her shoulder as she held him tightly. 

“I love you,” she whispered silently, but he could not hear what was not there. She had given her voice for him, to return his sight to his broken eye, to remove the block on his own memories of who and what he was. For him, she had sold her song to the heavens to give him back the sea. 

She loved him, that brat, all curled up in her arms. All of her life, she had wanted a child. She had one, now. Not of blood, but of water, of the sea. Somehow, that meant more. So much more.

The boy shifted in her arms, nuzzling quietly into her hair for a second as he pulled himself from his own thoughts. When he pulled back, he frowned at her. “You  _ are _ going to teach me how to swim, aren’t you?” His tone was demanding, eyes set and narrowed. As her shoulders shook from silent laughter, he glowered at her. “Stop that!’ 

Gently, gently, Grelle lowered him back into the water. She pushed herself back a few yards, then flicked her tail. Offering out her arms, she waited and watched, ready to catch him if he needed help. 

Ciel lowered his head under the water, his gills filtering the oxygen from the water. He took a moment, centering himself. Then he tested his tail. It was long, slender; he was royalty, after all, and the sea remembered that. Nowhere near as long and powerful as Grelle was, but she was an adult, he reasoned. He still had some growing to do. 

Still, he had power. Muscle. As weak as he was on land, as frail, here? Here, he was a merman, a creature of the water. Smooth, pale blue scales, a cream-colored underbelly. His fins were wide and fluttered, like lace--but he had sharp spines, too. He could fight if he needed to. He was quick. Dangerous. 

Grelle thudded her tail fins on the top of the water. She dove down, glancing at him, one eyebrow raised.  _ I hope you aren’t going to take all night! _ her face said. 

He flicked his tail, and propelled himself forward like a dart. Yes, he was quick, and strong--but he had no idea how to stop. Ciel crashed headlong into Grelle’s stomach. They both fell back a few feet, bumping into the sandy bottom. When he pulled back, clearing the grit from his gills, he frowned. She was laughing again. 

He couldn’t help it, though. He started to laugh, too. 

Together, they surfaced. Ciel tried swimming a few circles around her, eventually getting the hang of it. She encouraged him silently, sometimes grabbing his hand or his tail to show him how to do something by example, or holding him to get him used to the feel of water currents, waves...whatever she could think of. 

Within an hour, he was swimming like a proper merman, even breaching in high leaps, laughing like mad the entire time. 

“Seems like the two of you are bonding well.”

Grelle looked over her shoulder, then brightened. She waved, wanting to call out, but couldn’t. She tugged on Ciel’s elbow, pointing to the short figure on the shore. 

“The Witch,” Ciel mumbled, following her motions. He sighed. “Your brother. Very well. Let’s head back to the beach.” Still, he grabbed her hand and squeezed worriedly. It was not until she pressed a kiss to his forehead that he relaxed. He took her hand and kissed the knuckles, gently. “Lead the way, mother.” 

A spark jumped between them, from his lips to her knuckles. She pulled back with wide eyes, confused, but shrugged it off. Some merfolk were able to send out electric-like shocks for protection. It was possible that Ciel could, and simply did that on accident. Grinning, she pulled him along, back to shore, the two of them shifting back to their human shapes. 

Othello smiled broadly, but he was not looking at them. “Your clothes are over there. You...uh...probably should put them on. Meet me back at House when you’re dressed, okay? I’ve got some coffee and tea brewing.” He kicked some of the sand, his pants rolled up to his knees and his feet bare. 

“We will,” Ciel answered, because he knew that was what Grelle would want. She was already hurriedly putting her skirts and top back on, apparently ignoring the corset and those heels she had started to love wearing. Taking her cue, he simply replaced his pants and undershirt, keeping his jacket and shoes in hand. 

They looked at each other, silent. Then, quietly, “You...you don’t mind me calling you mother, do you? I...I can stop. If you want me to.” 

Grelle hurriedly shook her head. She knelt down in the sand, looking at him with a gentler version of her usual broad grin. They pressed their foreheads together, just content to be together for a moment. A second. However much time they had left. 

Ciel took a breath, his eyes squeezed shut. “Run away with me. Take me away from here--please. We...we can ask your brother. There has to be a way for us to escape this. I don’t want to be under Sebastian’s shadow any longer. Your...your ‘fiance’ makes me want to punch him in the face. I...I can’t lose you, mother. Not now.” He was a child then, nothing like the bravado he usually faked. No. He was a young boy, just barely a teenager, with tears in his eyes and fear upon his face. 

She ruffled his hair, breathing shallowly. “We’ll see,” she mouthed. “We’ll try.” 

Othello watched them from his porch, smoking silently. Behind him, the sun began to rise on the final week of Grelle’s stay. 


	20. The End of the Game

He had stayed far too long. Time slipped through his fingers, somehow, like grains of sand on the wind. There was one week left--one week until he became nothing but foam upon the shore, his body gone forever. That was what he had been told--should he fail, should he not gain Grelle’s heart and the heart of her lover, he would perish. 

Cold, green eyes watched the woman now. She was unsure of herself, of her footing, but she was moving just as gracefully as she would in the water. The High Prince held her at her waist, guiding her in a slow, steady waltz across the floor of the sparring room. Swords had been forgotten, for now, her hand in his. 

“Lightly,” Sebastian mumbled, gliding across the stone paneled floor as though he was on a cloud. “My lady, I must admit--you are rather good at this.” He smiled at her, eyes smoldering, burning embers surrounded by ash. 

She smiled up at him, still unsure, but her own eyes were bright. Silently, she laughed, her body pressed against his as he gripped her tighter. 

William stood up from his seat. “Enough,” he snapped. He strode onto the floor, snatching Grelle away from Sebastian. He glared at the man, daggers of frozen neon green. “She is not yours.”

“Nor is she yours,” Sebastian chuckled, but he bowed to the King and slipped back, all grace, like a snake. “Perhaps it is time for the lady to decide for herself.” He straightened. Why did he look so much like a beast, a monster, cast in shadow and in the form of a man? He could eat them both, right then; just swallow them whole and be done with it. He was the darkness behind a fire; hot and burning, but still. Black. 

“She still has a week,” a voice snapped from the doorway. All three of them turned to look, eyes falling upon Ciel as he crossed his arms over his chest. Ronald and Othello were behind him, trying to look anywhere but into the room itself. “A week before the bargain becomes obsolete. A week until she falls to the sand as sea foam. You’re both acting like rutting beasts.” Then he turned on his heel and swept past the guard and the witch, stomping his feet the entire time in a rapid succession of  _ clack clack clack. _

Othello sighed, stepping into the room. “I’d like to speak with my sister, alone, if you don’t mind.” He glanced back at Ronald, who dipped his head slightly. 

Without waiting for an answer, Grelle gathered herself, pushing past both of her suitors, both men who wanted her dead. Othello offered his arm to her, and she took it, following his lead down the hallway and out of sight. 

Sebastian huffed, just so, and ran his fingers through his unruly black hair. He shrugged a knot out of his shoulders. “I will see you at the evening meal, I suppose, William.”

“And I, you,” the merman replied. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, pausing. “Do you love her?” 

“Hm?” The High Prince turned, taking in the other man. “You know--we are alike, in some ways. Yet you are so cold, so crisp. You remind me of ice and winter.” Tipping his head to one side. “How could a fiery creature like her ever love someone like you?” 

William frowned, tensing. “You did not answer the question.”

“Yes, yes. I am getting to that.” Sebastian sauntered to the side of the room, taking one of the swords off of the wall. He tossed it to the other man before grabbing one for himself. “Our Lady Grelle is a feisty one. A wriggling little fish; a beautiful little mermaid. Her heart is full of love, just as I need it to be.” He turned, looking at William with those damned, garnet colored eyes. Fire danced in them, mirth. “I never said I wanted her to love  _ me. _ I just need her heart gorged on love for another--for anyone. And you--and I will admit, my own  _ son _ \--have done the work for me.” 

Grinning, Sebastian lunged, his sword aimed straight for William’s throat. 

***

“I have information,” Othello said. He closed the door to Ciel’s room behind him, locking it. The boy nodded to him, offering him a seat as he and Grelle perched on the edge of his bed. Othello made himself comfortable. “And a possible escape route for the two of you.” 

“Tell us?” Grelle mouthed. Ciel repeated her unspoken words, the two of them used to working together for her communication. 

“Oh, right, that.” Othello pulled a vial out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to his sister. “Drink that. It should help your voice--I have to warn you, though. You used up your song and whatever latent magic merfolk might have. You won’t be able to sing a note now.” 

Shrugging, Grelle brought the cream-colored liquid to her lips. It tasted of sand and dust, of dried out seaweed and the underside of rotting clams. Every inch of her bucked it, wanting her to throw up, to toss it away from her, out of her. Still, struggling, she managed to down the damned thing. It made her throat tighten up, her tongue heavily. It took a moment, but she managed to rasp out a hoarse, “Thank you.”

Othello smiled. “It’s going to be nighttime, soon. I have a theory, and I need the light of the moon to prove or disprove it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Ciel poured himself some tea, adding more honey than he probably should have. Grelle gave him a look. A moment later, he dumped out the tea into a basin and remade it with half as much honey this time, but more cream. Huffing, he returned to his seat beside Grelle, nudging his hip against hers. 

“You’ll see.” The witch smiled, all cat-like. Ciel flinched slightly, seeing the resemblance between his new mother and his...uncle? It hit him then that the little gremlin-witch-man was, indeed, his uncle by adoption, now that he considered Grelle his mother.

The sound of steel clanging hit their ears. The three looked at each other, surprised. Grelle was the first on her feet, moving to the door. She threw it open, sticking her head out to listen. “The sparring room,” she croaked out, and pouted. She had liked her voice before. This one was going to take some getting used to. She certainly hoped it cleared up a bit. “It sounds like a real fight, not just practice.” 

“Should we go look? Sebastian and William are probably fighting again.” Ciel sipped his tea. “Maybe they’ll kill one another this time.” 

Despite herself, Grelle felt a pang in her heart. “I’m going to go look,” she whispered, rushing down the corridor before Othello could halt her. 

Blood.

She could smell it before she saw it, heady and thick in the air. Her body froze up as she entered the sparring room. So much blood, gushing and glimmering on the slate flooring, like rubies spilled from a sack. 

Only the sack was William. 

Sebastian straightened up, wiping his blade clean with a handkerchief. “Ah,” he purred, brushing some of his own blood from his cheek. “I see you heard our little struggle, hm?” He chuckled, tossing his blade to Ronald, who was standing in one corner with a grim look upon his face. In the shadows, he looked very bit like the monstrous fae he was, though his bright eyes were sad and angry. 

“...W-William?” Grelle breathed.

“And I see you can speak again. No matter.” Sebastian began to approach her, dropping the once-white kerchief to the ground. It fluttered in the air before falling onto Wiliam’s outstretched hand. The High Prince tipped his head to one side, just a foot away from the mermaid. “I grow tired of this silly game.”

Footfalls behind her. Othello and Ciel skidded to a stop, both looking into the room. Sebastian’s hands were on her throat, crushing her windpipe, a sick, twisted grin upon his otherwise handsome face. 

“Let her go!” Ciel shouted. “Let her go!” 

“You’ve served your purpose,” Sebastian purred. He glared into Grelle’s eyes as the light started to leave them, laughter upon his lips. Then he glanced at Ciel. “This is for your own good, my son.” 

Ciel screamed. He threw himself forward, grabbing Sebastian’s arm. “I am not your son!” It was enough. Just enough for Grelle to gain a foothold, to throw herself backward as well. The momentum dragged Sebastian forward. With a loud, painful  _ THWACK,  _ she headbutted him, right in the center of his forehead. 

Oh, it stung, and she saw stars for a moment, but that did not matter. This man--this monster--had taken William from her. He had used them, all of them--for what? For a game? Was that what this was about?

Sebastian fell back, landing on his knees. Blood dripped from his forehead, from one eye. “You certainly are hard-headed, my lady,” he seethed. “Ronald.” 

The Sluagh flinched. “Please--”

“Do it.” 

Ronald twitched. “Y-yes, my lord.” 

Grelle did not see him move. She did not see his wings flare, his body shift into something terrible, something unworldly. She could not see a thing, fallen to her own knees--

\--because Othello put himself between his lover and his sister, arms outstretched, and took the monstrous blow himself. More blood flowed, this time down his lips, his chest. Still, he smiled, cocky and flirtatious, at Ronald as the Sluagh pulled back and screamed. “G-good shot,” the witch chuckled. “You’ve gotten...stronger...Ronnie.”

The guard pulled back, eyes huge. The image of him as a fae monster dropped, reverting back to the young, blonde man he usually looked to be. His hands were coated in blood, in the viscera of his lover. “N-no,” he whispered. “No.” 

“Hm.” Sebastian rose to his feet, sword in hand. He glanced to the side, where Ciel had fallen. The boy seemed to be unconscious. No matter. All would be well--as soon as he had the heart of that stupid little mermaid. A few of his bones snapped, the pain flaring up his spine. Collar bone, shoulder--something was broken, or out of place. 

No matter.

Not a problem at all. 

Sebastian grinned, all wild anger and steely laughter, and lunged at Grelle, his sword pointed for her heart.


	21. Home

Something caught the back of his ankle. Something snapped, inside of his leg, thrashing up into his calf, into his knee. It was blinding, the pain horrible, hellish. Sebastian cried out. He floundered. He lost himself, his sword, everything, in that one moment, turning to look, wide-eyed, his achilles tendon ripped out of his right leg. 

William, covered in his own blood, in Sebastian’s blood now, glared up at him, and spat out the chunk of meat and sinew. As Sebastian fell, the King of the Coral Kingdom rose, pushing himself up off of the ground, crimson blood flowing from the wound in his shoulder. His glasses were crushed, gone, those cold eyes full of fire for the first time in his life. 

And he lunged, teeth bared. He had enough of playing human. He had enough of playing the prince, the King. He was a merman of the Deep Sea; he was a monster from the nightmares of those who had seen the sun. Even the spell upon him could not hold his form any longer; flashes of green and gold tore up through his skin as he fell upon Sebastian, teeth at the High Prince’s throat. 

Grelle dropped to her knees, heaving. Othello lay before her, gasping for air. Shaking, she looked at Ronald, who was still screaming, still raging at what he had been forced to do. Everything was so slow, the world around her almost frozen, muffled. 

“Othello?” she whispered. 

He looked up at her, eyes unfocused. He chuckled, a hoarse whisper. “I’m glad...I found you again,” he coughed. “I’m glad...you found love. You found happiness, Grelle. You’re a mom. That’s...what you always...wanted.” With what little strength he had left, he reached up, touching the side of her face. “It’s...it’s fine. Witches don’t...really die. We just...find a different body.” His hand fell, limp. “I’ll...find you again.” 

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “P-Please, Othello. Please.” 

“I...I’ll see you soon.” 

Then he was silent, eyes staring blankly upward, the blood on his lips cooling. 

Her hands moved. She found herself on her feet, teeth bared. The sword. She grabbed it, the one that had fallen from Sebastian’s hand when William attacked him. Heaving, she stood. “William,” she hissed, voice gaining strength. “Drop him.” 

The merman obeyed, rolling off of Sebastian’s form. He wiped blood from his mouth, eyes glowing fiercely. 

Sebastian, still alive, looked up at her. Grelle stood before him, like a goddess, the ethereal light of the moon bathing her from the window behind her.  _ Wait. _ The moon. It coated her, the light of it caressing every inch of her. Her feet lay in the puddles of blood on the floor, providing more than enough liquid for the spell to allow her to change, to take her human shape away, to make her the mermaid he needed her to be. 

Yet, there she stood, all dangerous beauty, fire and red and blood, and so horribly human. 

“You have lost,” Grelle hissed. She raised the sword, pointing it at his chest. “It seems you made too large of a risk, hm?” Her eyes narrowed. Sebastian was gasping for air, William’s teeth having done a decent job on the High Prince. “Any last words, love?” 

Sebastian’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for an out, for a way to twist this in his favor. Then his gaze fell upon his son, upon Ciel’s limp form, just off to his left. With one last look up at Grelle, he threw himself at the boy, grabbing him. 

He pushed up, holding Ciel to him, raggedly breathing. A shield. The boy was a shield now, unconscious and unable to move. 

Grelle froze. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t--” Still, it had worked. His ploy had worked. She dropped the sword from her hand. 

Sebastian grinned. “You’re right,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t.” He shifted slightly, cradling Ciel to him. There were tears in the man’s eyes now, holding the boy like his life, his soul, depended on it. 

Stalemate. 

“What do you want, then,” Grelle hissed. She was tired of this, all of this. She wanted to take Ciel, to leave this mad castle. She wanted to be his mother, in peace and quiet. “Why did you want my heart?” Turning, she glared at William. “You’re not free of this, either.” 

He hissed, looking away from her. “...We both needed your heart, for different reasons. It had to be full of love--and I needed the heart of a person you love in return. I...failed.” He shivered. “I will turn to sea foam, and perish.” 

“You are a stupid man, William. Honestly, I had thought better of you.” Grelle turned fully to him, leaning down. She touched the side of his face, her lips parted, just so. “You already have my heart--and you have your own, too.” She took his head, gently kissing his blood-soaked palm. “I won’t return to the sea. I promise you.” Biting back tears, she grinned at him. “You can still be King. Just tell that stupid Sea Witch you figured out a loop-hole.” 

Standing again, she returned her glare to Sebastian. “And you?” 

“I...I wanted the best, for Ciel. For myself. I did not want him to suffer the same fate as his family, as his twin. I wanted to be able to protect him, always--and your heart, as a mermaid, offered that chance.” Sebastian looked up at her, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “But you aren’t any longer, are you? You managed to break the spell--yet I did not kiss you. William did not, either; I have had him under my watch. So who--?”

Grelle chuckled bitterly, looking to Ciel’s face as his eyes started to flutter open. “I love him,” she whispered. “And I think he loves me, too, as his mother.” Flicking her eyes back up to Sebastian, she sighed. “You had my brother murdered.” 

“It should have been you.” 

“Rude.” She turned on her heel, leaning down to Ronald. He was shaking Othello’s corpse, getting more and more blood upon his skin, upon his armor. Gently, gently. She took his face, making the guard look at her. “He said he will come back. Can you wait? Can you wait for him?” 

“Y-yes,” he breathed, sobbing. He leaned into her shoulder, blonde hair dyed strawberry from the crimson regret surrounding them. “I will wait forever, if I have to.” 

She kissed his forehead. “Hopefully he isn’t that much of a tease, Ronald.”

Taking to the center of the room, Grelle drew a breath. “This is what is going to happen. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you all understand? I’m not good at being a Queen, and I...I don’t want to be one. I just want to be a mother. I will fight until my last if I must, to protect him.” She looked at Ciel as he came to, their eyes meeting. 

They both nodded, understanding.

***

William returned to the sea, grateful for the cold water against his skin. The salt of it stung his injuries, but that just meant he was alive. Never before had he been so happy with that fact. Never before had he been so upset with that fact. He swam for what felt like eons, against the waves, against the tide pulled by the moon overhead. 

Down he swam, lithe and powerful, to the grotto of the Sea Witch. 

“You’ve returned? Heheheheh...I do hope you have what we agreed upon, your Highness.”

William threw the dagger onto the stone table, his eyes flashing. “I do,” he breathed. He took Undertaker’s hand, pressing the other man’s palm against his own pale chest. “Her heart. And mine.” 

The Sea Witch laughed until he hurt, sending bubbles dancing up into the stone and coral of his home. “Very good,” he giggled. “And your Queen?”

“You already know, so I do not understand why I should waste my time explaining.” Over the last two months, he had gotten so used to pushing those damned glasses up his nose that his hand moved to do just that. Here, in the sea, where he was himself, he did not need the spectacles, though. Instead, he just touched the pad of his finger to his brow, and sighed. 

“Well?”

“...she is no Queen. She is no mermaid, either. Grelle is a mother, and a good one at that. I do not know where she and that child will end up--but I do have faith that they will care for each other, for as long as they need to. Forever, perhaps.” His eyes flicked to Undertaker’s face, and he groaned. “Honestly. Your grandson is a handful. Just like you.” 

Another burst of laughter filled the small space, echoing out into the ocean beyond, the bubbles of it bursting on the surface in tiny little giggling pops. 

***

Ciel leaned into Grelle’s shoulder, sighing quietly to himself. The sand beneath them was cool and soft; comfortable. He felt her move as she laced together some seaweed, making little wreaths from it. 

“I’m surprised he let you go, honestly,” she said softly as she put the crown onto his head. “My prince.” Giggling, she lay a kiss upon the boy’s forehead. 

“He didn’t have a choice. I would have run away with you, anyway. We have to visit, on occasion; I am fine with that. Maybe he will learn a thing or two by being alone.” His mismatched eyes turned to watch the sun as it set, the fire of it burning out across the glassy surface of the sea. 

Grelle scooped him up, her arms strong around him. He was asleep within moments, safe and sound. She brought him to the living house, who moved and clucked softly as they entered her insides. Safety. She would keep them safe, until Othello returned to tell her otherwise, if he thought of it. 

Until then, until then, House closed her door, warming them with her fire. 

They were home.


End file.
